Chapter 28: " A Mind for Two "

The Gallery was hardly visited. If anything, the Gallery never even received a tinge of reception from it's intended audience, which defied social expectancy to it's purpose for public exhibition. Despite it, collected within the archives were a myriad of relics and artifacts venerable for longevity, historical depiction and it's respective counterpart of opinionated interpretation, now aging and dying underneath the stem of invisibility. Vestiges of ages and eras long dead, signified for precious, inexpugnable influence reduced to nothing but items of trivial substance. Gazes cast upon the outlook of the structure of invaluable culture demean it's foundation by a mere infliction of apathy, a turn of the eyes and overlook to cast but indifference upon such unparalleled educational grandeur.

Artists, authors, historians, leaders and all alike shelved and displayed for the acquisition of information, teeming with golden accounts of past events and experiences, firsthand witness documents and filed records. A plethora of unguided learning, layered, pasted and placed upon every inch and corner for to be observed, and picked up. In it's dignity, the Gallery was fashioned in a crossover of medieval and modern architecture. It was pleasing to see the building be adorned with influences from the different planets Irk had conquered, but still by unified together with the base of Irk-modern and cistercian ornamentation. Unlike the remainder of the Palace, the Gallery hadn't been constructed with steel but rather with stone, and reinforced bru wood. Something, personally, Red thought gave it a better appeal, but proved to age quicker; despite all of the advancements made to the stone's chemical build.

Red felt the fact the Gallery was so rarely visited made his a lot more precious. Although cleaning bots could be spotted dusting, sweeping and washing the walls or floors, automated machinery didn't count as living beings. They weren't able to pause and observe their surroundings. Soak in the secreted information dripping off walls; Information regarding to no one subject but many and all. The style, influence and art of the physical structure around them, the complexity of stories sewn within the paintings. The imagery, passion and scenes ebbing at minds from novels and stories, the imagination and wonder created by observing the ancient relics, and artifacts. They weren't able to grasp the interior scenery around them, much less the precious valuables held within it. It wasn't until he saw them he thought about his conscious a lot more worth of value than he regularly accredited it. By this, he felt guiltily indulged. Red wandered and wandered but felt no displeasure in his doing so. He basked in the content, the silence, and the emptiness.

He felt selected, out of the vast majority of the others, to behold, to cherish this event alone, without share. Everything he witnessed was his alone to experience and remember. Some days he would linger in the records hall, or stray within the literature section. Digress into the art exhibit, or relics house. And it was something he felt he could be truly grateful for. Most days, though in spite of everything that seemed to charm him, he came here to clear his mind. To think. Daydream and run away with lurid thoughts. Sometimes, he believed it was his only way of maintaining his sanity.

But...there were costs to his moments in the Gallery, his times in silence. It acted as to jeopardize him however it did so randomly. Days he spent alone and other days in the company of another. One who resounded every where but remained in the shadows, the peripheral vision. Inevitably— in his times of contemplation—he began to hear the voice; He began to hear him. Sometimes a whisper and other times full vocal. Red responded at first when he came unannounced. The voice had made a snide remark, vague and rhetoric as was reminiscent to his past ones. Red questioned him openly. But he never received a response.

He'd heard him before. His recognizable, shallow tone. But something was different. It wasn't any longer a muted sound, spurring in the cloud of thoughts. Red heard him elsewhere; He heard him around him.

His voice reverberated off nearby walls. It cast echoes as if the being had distance between the two. It was when it suddenly became traceable to a source, the Tallest inwardly shattered. Because it had now sounded that it was actually here...with him. But when Red looked around, when Red searched for it, it seemed to sway him and avoid his presence. Forever it lingered over another few shelves ahead or another section off. Red had to stop coming to the Gallery, convinced that he was being followed or going insane. But deep inside, he knew it was still the same entrapped voice, waiting in the depths of his mind.

When he willed himself to return back, Red would respond vocally to the voice as if it were actually present. One of the benefits of being alone was that it aided in preserving him from appearing insane. Though it didn't help him inwardly. Inside, he trembled. There was a deterioration that ate away at his foundation of surety. When it spoke his spine shivered and made him feel sick. There wasn't enough clarity for this event. He didn't know what was occurring and why it was. In times of internal desperation, there were such occasions where he demanded for answers but mockery was what he received. Worse—even silence. At least with bitter sarcasm, caustic scorning or tepid, shallow witticism, Red had activity. He had personality and he was able to guess about it's complex state of mind. When it grew silent and cold, he was left to be beleaguered by nothingness and astounded by it's quick departure.

The Gallery quickly lost it's allure. Everything that used to fascinate him and take his mind away with grace became diluted and fell under the same attention it once had before. It was no longer a place where he thought history delved into and offered countless knowledge. It was a holder of his insecurity, a pocket dimension of his own countless insanities. But he couldn't seek refuge away from the Gallery. No...now it held it's own devilish, bewitching allure. It held answers that Red wanted. It held thoughts, information that was beyond his own understanding. He could feel it. And it was with the voice, which was the only gateway to it, that he could attain it.

Red leaned upon a stone banister which secured him from the edge on the second floor. His hands gripped tightly on the top rail, forcing blood away from his fingers. His eyes watched the flooring the level below him, and traced around the sequestered black mandala that gave adornment to the white marble. It was simple in construct, but the minutiae was more complicated. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing.

The last time he came here was a week ago. Entering in here, despite the offsetting magnetism he had to the place, was becoming more and more difficult. It felt like he entered into a tightened atmosphere, one that wanted to choke him. Grasp his neck with spindled fingers and clench the flesh with a fixed grip, to crush his trachea.

What an artistic thought.

Red opened his eyes. The same wave of sickness fell upon him. His antenna twitched, and picked up the echoes around him.

" You came early." Red said simply.

You came late. A week late.

" I didn't know you appreciated my presence."

I don't...But you do. So it's my will to oblige.

Red turned. The deluding voice sounded close. His eyes flitted between book shelves and searched in between the cracks where books had spaces in between them. Chills ran down his spine.

" Pleasure isn't a word I'd use to describe it." Red remarked.

So describe to me, then, your constant returning. Would it not be because of my company?

" No, it wouldn't be. You know things, and I want to know how you know them."

How bold. You must be used to getting your way by force.

Red looked over his shoulder, scanned his surroundings and repositioned himself. He blinked and took a silent deep breath.

"...I didn't mean it that way." He remarked.

Now submissive...You're nervous...Does the idea of my existence threaten your own? I've never hurt you before, Have I?

He lowered his eyes.

" You have. You gave me a migraine, and caused me to pass out."

Ah. That occurred because your subconscious couldn't hold me. I...fell out. Or so to speak.

Red thought about what he said, more particularly what it meant. He didn't want to think him to have access to his mind, much less even to his subconscious, however some part of him wasn't surprised by the news. For a reason, despite his initial want to be distressed by the information, he already knew about it. And his feelings of being offended were succumbed underneath his apathy.

His eyes creased, shaping his contemplation. He thought more about the term he used to describe the event of the migraine. Fell. Red quarreled internally whether that meant some sort of mental, physical probing was apparent for the voice's abilities, or if something else was at play. Again; it was too vague of an answer. Some part of Red wanted to poke fun at the event. Make some joke or remark about it. But he overrode that with his feelings of wanting clarification, not humor.

"...What do you mean fell?" The Tallest asked.

There was a pause. He took a quick glance around him.

I fell. It cannot become any more explicative than that, I'm afraid. Unless you prefer a synonym? I descended...I dropped...I plummeted...Or, if you prefer literal translation: I allowed gravitational pull to surpass the level of normal force, offered by the layer of your mind, which in turn was ruptured and caused me to be pulled—

" Alright, alright." Red interjected. " I get it...It was a stupid question." Despite his statement, Red still felt a cord of irresolution inside. He was still confused.

Around him, he heard low chuckles. It was offsetting, to say the least, to hear him amused. Especially at his own expense. Red looked around some more. The voice kept moving. It almost felt as if it was circling around him but behind walls and corners. He began walking where he thought the echoes were coming from.

" Is that why you're outside now? Taunting me?" The Irken asked, still searching for the source.

Out? I'm not out, Red.

" You are out. I can hear you around me. I can hear the echoes—"

The mind hears what it wants to hear, Red. More importantly, the mind isn't able to differentiate complex manifestations.

Red paused. He considered the info, and applied it here. It became more understandable, but among with everything, there was an undying tinge of uncertainty. Like some piece of logic was still missing from the puzzle. Red swallowed a lump in his throat.

" ...But yet you said you were waiting for me..." The Tallest pondered aloud. He kept looking around him. "...But how could I leave you if...you're part of my mind?" He said quietly, more to himself for realization than to ask if he was correct. He blinked a few times and snapped his vision to the right, thinking he saw a fleeting object from his peripherals.

Red swallowed again. Fear bloomed in his chest like mold.

"...You're making me hear them. Auditory illusions." He confirmed.

More low chuckles could be heard. The Irken received shivers from how loud they were. Meaning they sounded closer.

I'm glad of your attention, Red. You're catching on.

Red swallowed a lump in his throat.

Well...With my help, anyway. But nevertheless, I'm eager to give credit where it belongs.

"...But why? Why make me think you're here?" He asked.

Suddenly he felt as if he was being watched. A cold presence arrived behind him, almost pressing against his back.

But why? Whispered into his antenna.

Red's instincts caught him and he swung his arm behind as he evaded from the assailant. But his arm didn't encounter anything but cut through air. Nothing was there. Red began trembling. The voice that had whispered in his ear wasn't of the voice's; it was his own. As if it'd been cut and copied.

" Don't do that."

I didn't do anything, Red.

Despite it, the voice was chuckling. Red squeezed his fists. This constant, silly beleaguering for elementary amusement was beginning to anger him. The avoidance of his questions, the pointless games and evasive answers, all completed at the expense of his patience and his sentiment.

Don't think too long, Red. I hear Irkens get bad headaches if they do. Well...only those who are stupid.

" Shut up."

Oh dear. But here I thought you were wanting answers.

" Then answer me, dammit!" Red yelled.

There wasn't a response. But if the voice had owned a fleshly being, he knew by the gods that he would have the biggest grin plastered on his cynical face.

But don't you find it a little rude to want answers for your questions, when you've never answered any of mine?

Red furrowed his eyes.

" You never asked any."

Oh. Pity...And just when I was beginning to think we were having progress.

There was silence after that. One that stretched within the far boundaries of the Gallery itself. Red wished inside he wasn't departing like he always did in the midst of a conversation. Branching off only to let the tips of their words wane from existence, never to meet ends. He looked around him, his nerves still instilling signals of alert, flaring and energetic. He couldn't mentally understand why he felt so alarmed, so on edge. He concluded that maybe it was the element of ambiguity, the effect of being left in the darkness was what was so terrifying; That way anything could happen, and you were at your most vulnerable.

Red then remembered then that he implied he could access his mind, as if it was as easy as opening a door to a designated room.

Here. If the echoes bother you so much, allow me to be of comfort.

For a moment, all thought processing ceased. Within that time frame, Red felt his head swell with an unnatural mass, his vision encumbered by phosphenes, and a wave of disorientation fluttering through his body. Of course, he couldn't mentally grasp that until the time frame was up, and all cognitive function returned and stumbled upon whether the miniscule moments that fled were true or not. Red blinked, grabbed his head, and steadied his feet as his soles nearly lost grip on the ground they stood upon. His vision developed as the dancing lights and particles parted ways and he furrowed his brow from the pain that throbbed in his head.

The Irken suddenly realized he was out of breath.

See? Much better.

There were no more echoes. Now it circled within his head like it did before, the sound no longer carrying a disconcerting reverberation as a property, instead with replacing it with his confusion.

" What did you do to me?" He said, concerned and heavily breathing.

Not hurt you, if that's what you're implying.

" I don't need to imply if I feel it." Red hissed.

Then don't. Endure it and don't make a fool of yourself like you always do.

The Tallest would've retorted if he didn't feel the surge through his brain that swept clean all of the pain that was present, catching him off guard and rending him mentally unaware. Then he felt a twitch of movement, one that he shouldn't have been able to feel, inside his head; as if the flesh had muscle, and suffered through multiple spasms in reaction to the unwholesome event. When it stopped, Red blinked a few times, caught his head once more as if it were to fall, and suffered through waves of nausea. He began feeling picks and needles, fishing through his antennae. He covered them and closed his eyes though the amalgam of sensations clouding his judgment.

Usually, if allowed, time will erase your pain but I was afraid your mouth would keep running so I did it myself.

Despite covering his antennae, his voice was unchanged in volume. Red took a deep breath. His insides trembled, and he wished that all feelings were able to be muted. Complicating sensations of unnatural origin crept through his brain, and wreaked havoc upon his body. It was almost as something slithered inside him, passing through the currents of his blood and squirming through his organs.

"...What were your questions?" He asked quietly. The voice's baritone chuckles sounded through his mind, and Red quivered.

Oh, another submission from Almighty Red? What has become of our precious leader!

Red furrowed his eyes.

" Just...tell me..."

His chuckles rang out a little more. It wasn't long until it was silent again, and Red finally opened his eyes. The lighting in the area was starting to appear blinding, and he had forgotten he was in the Gallery.

So much more caring than that Purple-ish counterpart of ours, aren't we?

Whispered into the Tallest's head. Again, almost like a function of copy and paste, the voice had familiar ring and intonation to it and because of the recognition the Irken had to it, he remembered the time when the voice had actually said that to him. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the occupation the presence of the voice held in his head, adding an unreal mass to the contents of his brain and increasing it's weight.

Red momentarily wondered why this question was listed amongst those that supposedly needed answering. However he dismissed the thought as he also remembered that they were no longer just his; the voice had responded more than once to his individual musings.

The Tallest cleared his throat.

" Yes...w-we are." He said, unsure.

Lies.

Red nearly jumped, and looked around the near vicinity circling him. The word was repeated and it carried around his head which seemed to be executed by a crowd, and not a mere individual. The susurration lingered a few moments longer before it quieted. More chills passed down his back, and he swallowed a gathering lump in his throat.

"...Y-You never said anything about answering truthfully."

All he received was more chuckling.

To that, even Red had to admit that his remark was inane. It wasn't his initial intent to wear defiance as to put on some sort of childish retaliation, However he had feigned it anyways. It wasn't much of an act to regret upon, but he still felt like an idiot for doing so.

What's wrong Red? Isn't this what you wanted? For the people to fear you, and worship you? Maybe even erect statues in your honor?

Red blinked. He didn't know how to feel about the direction this conversation was heading to. It was hitting him too deeply. Too severely.

"...I did...I even said so myself..." Red admitted. "...But not anymore."

Liar.

A tightening tension was applied at the inside of his head, and sent a stinging pain down inside his nerves. Red took a sharp inhale of breath and held his head, suddenly retrieving the symptoms from beforehand, making him feel light headed and headache prone. The word ran around him in the air and was no longer a multitude of whispers. They gave off the atmosphere of being in the presence of a sect; Being judged by an audience that grew more disquieted with each response he had. Growing ever closer to the ideology of being deemed a lunatic in their eyes.

Except this was only an audience of one.

Red regained his breath and footing, and the pain slightly subsided. Chills replaced the ache of his nerves, and his legs were beginning to shake. He tried not to linger upon how much access this voice had with his body; The thought of it's interaction itself was unbearable. Red closed his eyes, and tried to alleviate the fluttering fear in his heart.

Soon there was another bout of oral inactivity. The Tallest realized the sweat that was gathering on his brow, and wiped his forehead.

Do I offend you, Red? Is the truth I speak offensive to your innocuous pair of antennae?

The Irken had to pause for a moment. This one required careful deliberation, especially because of it's affiliated feelings that breached deeper into sensitive boundaries. A truthful response might be in order, however the truth was more capable of damage than some people accredit it for.

"...No...You don't offend me."

Deceit.

" It isn't! It's the truth!" Red defended.

I know the truth. Why bother lying?

The voice asked, this time not accompanied by artificial replication nor a gathering of conformed individuals. However it didn't assume any sense of relief over those missing factors. There was never anything that could be considered relieving about it, whether or not it had affiliates.

" I'm not lying." Red confirmed.

...Back to square one.

A fever had slowly strewn itself in Red's health. There was a burning pain in his head and he no longer had the strength to keep standing on his feet. He'd been so preoccupied by the event of this conversation, he neglected his awareness to his body's health, and directed his attention solely to the conduct of this voice. The muscles in his legs shook violently as he was more conscious of his status, and he grabbed onto a nearby banister. The Irken looked around him. His instincts alerted him of his surroundings, however it was only his paranoia clouding him. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The silence reappeared and the weight in his head withdrew. He knew by those feelings the conversation was at an end.

But...it still felt too short. Too inconclusive. Short of progress. However the Tallest couldn't do anything about it. He sat himself on the ground nearby the banister, hearing the blood pulse through the arteries closest to his antennae, with each pulse causing a sickly throb inside his head.

He wondered if he was going insane.

• • •

Dib was home when there was a power outage throughout the neighborhood. The lights suddenly turned black and he was caught off guard. Though all independent electrical sources were safe, anything running from cables and phone lines weren't. Dib's Computer had an additional power source, one manufactured by him, and so his remained secure from the affect. Though there was a notable sigh that was heard from the living room. It was because of the heavy snowfall they had been receiving for the past few days, although predicted from the forecast, seeing it actually occur was different from hearing about it. He turned his head to the window at the side of his bedroom, but could only see the snow falling nearest to the glass, courtesy to the light from his monitor. It as then he remembered his dad was still at work.

He wondered if his facility was affected by it. It actually wouldn't surprise if it wasn't, considering his father was more cautious when it came to things like this than Dib.

Dib stood up from his desk and walked through his already open bedroom door to the living room. Darkness shrouded the entire interior, but he could see traces of the living room from the light that the bedroom spilled over. Gaz's footfalls creaked the floorboards, and she appeared seemingly out of nothing when she reached within the span of visible light.

" You alright?"

" I'm fine. It's only television." Gaz shrugged, though hinted more subdued umbrage than intended.

Dib only nodded in response. Although whispered under her breath, an audible Damn snow entered the expanse. " How is your computer still on?" She asked afterwards, putting her hands on her hips.

" Oh. I've built an independent source, so I wouldn't need to use plug-ins or the outlets. I've had it for a while now, I thought you would've known."

" Hmm." She hummed in response, her irritation still reverberating inside. She looked to her left and walked to the kitchen, apparently something had caught her attention. Dib looked back at his window, back at the snow.

He couldn't complain. Although within the given circumstance it was a lot easier for him to relay that than his sister, but he was graced by the thought that he wouldn't be much different if her condition were to be his as well. After all, they had quite a few days off from school, and the snow was something that rarely happened. On virtue, it became similar to a freak incident, but well received with open arms anyways in consideration to one individual.

" I suppose nature's trying to say somethin' about your unholy TV habits, Gaz." He smiled, still watching outside the window.

" Huh. But it's also giving me a space to bury in case somebody need's to die." She retorted. Harmless threats were always her avenues of sarcasm, rendered in her undistinguished tone. Dib wondered to himself that if this were to be repeated to anyone else, what their instinctual defense would be. Sure, they wouldn't actually evaluate the remark as a legitimate threat, but a sense of solemnity would arise not without a bit of caution. He smiled.

" Well, the snow would melt and the evidence would be found. Not entirely a stable set of precautionary tactics, I'm afraid."

" True, but getting rid of the source of my displeasure would be my preliminary goal, and not the event of condemning evidence being found." Gaz said, afterwards a few sounds of agitation emanated from the kitchen; bowls and plates being moved into the sink, boxes and pantry items being moved. The was a silverware item that dropped on the floor and battered against the tile a few times. Muted groping thudded around in the kitchen right after and stopped when the hand encountered metal. It was dropped in the sink as well.

" Then why bother burying me at all?" Dib continued.

" And leave this nature given 4 feet of snow? Waste not want not."

The fridge door opened. Dib understood this by the sound the food caked gasket made when it was forced away from the frame. But the engine didn't activate.

" Speaking of waste, this food's going to go bad if this outage doesn't let up." Gaz remarked.

" Well, actually, we have at least a day or two before that happens." He reminded.

" Still. I don't want wake up tomorrow to eat cereal with warm milk, and over-ripened oranges."

She closed the refrigerator. The pressure her feet made against the floor sounded off in quiet strains from the landing, and Gaz had entered back into the living room. She passed by her brother, momentarily entering the stretch of light that revealed parts of her body, and sat herself back upon the couch cushions. To spite the moment, she messed with the buttons on the TV remote. Dib allowed himself to walk into the darkness. On a subconscious level, he tried to remember by motion and pattern-based memory the location of everything in order to avoid encountering them. With it, he managed to stumble towards the couch and sit beside his sister without doing so.

" You know, for something that's only television, you seem pretty upset about this event happening."

A sigh escaped from his sister. An annoyed one at that, but Dib felt that it wasn't entirely from his doings.

" It was a cliffhanger. A bad one, too." She muttered. Dib cocked his head to the side. Cliffhangers were a plot device most endemically owned by fiction based media, involving heavy sets of drama. Gaz normally wasn't into things like that, with her constant catalog of shows being reality TV; CSI, serial killer files or some of other things related to murder and whatnot.

He took a moment to think.

" So I'm guessing you were wanting to see if the convicted was getting 20 years or 50 years in prison. I see; Very nerve-racking indeed." He said.

Silence filled the hole that was formed in the conversation, mainly be the now departed Gaz from the topic. All that was heard was her breathing, and the now slightly louder tapping of the buttons on the remote. Dib felt now that his jokes were becoming unnecessary; Perhaps even a bit abrasive. He was a little irked by it though, as she always tended to get annoyed from things that weren't supposed to be taken seriously. Her sense of humor never lasted long, and it seemed that if Dib ever tried to sustain it, she'd take offense to it, treating it as some proposed attack on her feelings.

" I guess you weren't really doing anything important on your computer if you're out here still." She remarked. Dib wasn't sure if that was meant to be thoughtful input or a retaliation from previously.

" Yeah...well, no and yes...I think. I was just...doing a project dad wanted me to." He said and rested his elbow against the armrest, planting his chin in his palm.

Gaz paused from the conversation once more before continuing.

"...A project dad wanted you to do?" She repeated.

" Yeah. He wants me to give inventory to all of the metals and compounds they're using in his laboratories. Record consumption-rate of which they're being used, calculate and forward off stable recovery plans and prices, if necessary, for imported materials, etc. I suppose he wants me to see if I'll be able to handle this for a few months, I guess just to give me something to do." He explained, trying to sound detached. Whenever he spoke about things that related to his personal activities, Dib, almost by instinct, disconnected himself from the topics to appear more compatible. Gaz had unintentional influence in those regards, and the atmosphere shifts were always something her brother, as well, unintentionally followed. If she was disinterested in the current of conversation, he would suppress his feelings for the subject and act more apathetic and tired. If it was a topic she was actually engaged in, which in all matters of honesty had only ever happened once, he wouldn't change in his disposition. He didn't think it to be appeasing, no, but more or less trying to be more inviting for her in social activity.

Though his intentions proved to be in vain most of the time.

" I thought he made his own metals." Gaz returned.

" Yeah, but he still needs to use other materials and stuff to do so."

"...So what is it he's trying to achieve? Create more elements?"

" Well...I suppose so. I'm not sure. He's just...trying to do everything, really. Seeing if he's able to." Dib shrugged.

Gaz shifted and her clothes rustled. She, once again, sank from the conversation, and hid herself in the darkness. The tapping on the remote subsided, and she placed it between them on the couch. The windows at the front of the room filtered orange light through the house, deriving from the light pole on the other side of the sidewalk. Once their eyes had adjusted, they were able to see with the feeble amount of light dispersed around the room. He saw small highlights of her hair, shining weakly, even in darkness.

The wind blew ferociously outside and the deep, forlorn whistling resounded around the home in long, fervent expanses. Sometimes when the magnitude of the winds increased and reached a culmination, the whistling transformed into howling, painful and oppressed. At those times, it shook the window panes. Dib imagined it to be like nature's revenge against man. More specifically his father, anyway, as his grand contributions to society have always, consequently, been the gradual destruction to planet Earth. These were silly thoughts, but they made way for interestingly amusing stories.

When the winds subsided in short intervals, there was a true silence that was sewn in the atmosphere. Before, there was always an ambient, sustaining sound that would escape one's notice if not for the decay in activity, like the furnace quietly pushing heat through house vents and air ducts. Or, because of the specialized equipment their father kept in the basement, the sound of multiple generators, silently whirring in animation. But because of the power outage, those things died along with the electricity and brought stillness to their surroundings. Dib became more aware of the smaller nuances, things his mind normally didn't centralize, when in silence.

Like the throb of blood he could feel pulsing through his veins in the space between his fingers, or the sound of it when it pushed by his ear. The air escaping through Gaz's nostrils from her exhale became louder, same with the rustling clothes made when they interacted with each other, and the abrasion caused when Gaz or Dib scratched their skin. It was strangely fascinating, how senses became more acute as others became circumstantially obsolete. Despite that though, Dib could even see, when looking at the window and the light that it provided from the outside, small cells that floated around on the surface of his eye. They differed in size and visibility, but he could still see them traveling across the aqueous humor on his cornea. He remembered faintly, that they were called 'eye floaters', from when he'd done research out of boredom. It wasn't until now that he could enjoy the event.

" What do you think about of Ms. Zoe?" Gaz asked, in a quiet voice, as if trying to appease the event by keeping her voice down. Dib looked away from the window and at his sister, whom was stroking her thumbs together, pensively, almost absent-mindlessly. Without much consent, thoughts entered into his mind that she had changed—drastically. Although it wasn't a new change, as he'd seen it's first arrival months prior, it still managed to continually surprise him with details that exceeded dormant expectations, as if it was acting as a reminder his sister was growing. And because of it, Dib hated being surprised by things like that; It gave the impression that he wasn't used to Gaz being a rational person. It meant that he was used to the self-concerned, antagonistic callous that Gaz used to be, and that he didn't expect her to be anything else. And when she showed change, Dib was nearly grounded by his confusion. The sad thing was that it was true, though. But he didn't want it to be. Not when she showed evidence otherwise.

Dib looked down to the carpet and blinked. He lingered on what she'd asked.

"Ms. Zoe?" He echoed. "...She's a nice person. Though I don't really go to class, because everything she's teaching what I already know."

Gaz moved a bit in her seat.

" Aren't you in an advanced class though?" She asked.

" Yeah, but still. You learn practically everything when you engineer. Engineering is one of the fields of study that requires mathematical, scientific and practical knowledge to be applied upon design and innovation." Dib remarked, hoping his choice of diction wasn't detaching his sister from the topic. He scratched his head. " And because I've been doing it for so long, I've...come to be really proficient in those fields."

Gaz only nodded to this statement, and continued stroking her thumbs. Dib realized then that he'd turned the conversation revolving around Ms. Zoe to about him and his experiences, and only very little about what she had asked for. At that moment, he felt slightly embarrassed.

" I..don't really know her all too well." He started. " So I haven't formed much of an opinion."

There wasn't a response; It was back to the silence and the sound of the muffled howling winds. Dib looked back at the window for a while. After a few minutes of nothing he looked back at his sister and her pensive behavior that he realized, again, how inconsiderate he was being.

"...What about you? What do you think of Ms. Zoe?" He asked. In that moment, the sounds of life exerting through a generator filled the room and the ceiling lights shuttered on. The flash pervaded their unsuspecting pupils and overexposed their surroundings. Dib shielded and closed his eyes from the painful rays. A few moments later his eyes adjusted and everything was more tolerable to look at. His eyes traced back to Gaz. She was only staring at the floor in front of her with a blank, empty expression. She grabbed the remote with a mechanical movement of her arm and lifted it towards the TV. The power button was pressed and the TV came to life. By what was showing, he knew it wasn't the same program she was referring to earlier. Her eyes remained on the TV screen, but she wasn't attentive to the information being said. Gaz blinked and viewed her hand with the remote and curled her fingers around it. It was gently set down beside her once more, on the crevice of where the couch cushions met ends and she lied down, settling her head on the armrest and curling her legs to keep from hitting the other occupant on the couch.

Dib looked back at the TV. It looked like a 70's fantasy film.

"...Do you want me to turn it off?" He asked in a low voice. Gaz shook her head. He looked back in front of him. And with that, he stood up from the couch and Gaz turned so that she was facing the back cushions and closed her eyes. He left the living room and turned off the lights. He would spend the next few hours pondering what the importance of their conversation was.