[There's a silence at Eight's question. One that hangs almost ominously in the space between them, the look on his face never changing, as he figures out how to actually approach the topic. That it needs saying isn't in question - not by any stretch of the imagination - but he hasn't quite figured out how to start.
(Briefly it occurs to him that this sort of thing is why he never really goes back, after people leave him. He's no good with any sort of ending, regardless of whether it's someone choosing something else or... this.)]
There's been--
[A death, he can't quite say. It might be a good start, but it's too impersonal too. As if he doesn't care and for once he can't quite pull himself into a facade of just not caring; instead of finishing out the sentence, he shakes his head and starts over.]
It's the hallucinations. They've started to turn deadly.
...and by 431 I mean 531, wow
(Briefly it occurs to him that this sort of thing is why he never really goes back, after people leave him. He's no good with any sort of ending, regardless of whether it's someone choosing something else or... this.)]
There's been--
[A death, he can't quite say. It might be a good start, but it's too impersonal too. As if he doesn't care and for once he can't quite pull himself into a facade of just not caring; instead of finishing out the sentence, he shakes his head and starts over.]
It's the hallucinations. They've started to turn deadly.