Sans scowls, is eye flickering once more. In the absence of familiar affection, there is only annoyance.

"I stopped tryin' to be funny about this a while ago," he growls, and turns back to the counter, taking in the arcane miscellanea. And this is his whole problem, isn't it? Everything had been a joke. It's always been a joke. But it feels like something is tearing down his psychological from the inside - ripping out some pieces and sewing in others. He doesn't know when the exact moment was. Probably somewhere around the point he realized that everything, ever, had been a lie.

There's been no help for it. There's no laughing it off. His staunch dedication to ambivalence stopped working the same moment he decided it was worth acting on his situation. Knowing he has power, knowing that some people's life and death could depend on his actions...all it's left is anger and despair. Like the process of mourning has started anew.

Day to day, he's held up okay - at least on the inside. But in the realm of this dream, it's like his interior struggle has been laid bare.

"So, you don't know what this place is, huh?" he asks, after a moment. "I think I might be starting to."