He blinks, looking up from his sadly mismatched socks, and it seems to take a second or two for what she's saying to sink in. And then he gives her a rueful smile and straightens back up, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers as they start off again.

"Sorry. I did try to cut it short. I'm having one of those kinds of days, I suppose." Not that that's a bad thing, in this particular instance. Mismatched socks and some slightly manic tendencies are the trade-off for an otherwise startlingly coherent day, and one largely free of the symptoms of depression. It's the way he usually acts on the network, but not needing the protection of the console to do it.

"I...." He laughs. "Would you believe me if I told you I'm trying to butter you up to shave off Wreath's eyebrows?"