Cooper Harley was not a particularly graceful man. Especially not when he was surprised, which due to his fondness for mood-altering drugs, was often. The smallest thing surprised him- the ring of his phone, the sound of his neglected house settling, the sunrise in the morning. And then he always flapped about and knocked something to the floor, the crashing sound of which inevitably surprised him, causing him to knock something else over, and so on ad infinitum until he had destroyed everything he owned. Similat to using paint to make a "Wet Paint" sign, then making a "Wet Paint" sign for the original sign, then a sign for the second sign, and so on. Not that any of these things had ever occurred, or were likely to at any point. But in the deep poetry written upon the fabric of the universe, Cooper sometimes felt there was a stanza somewhere describing him as the unluckiest man who ever lived.

Case in point, as Cooper scraped together what little courage he had in an effort to stare down Reed, Lillith abruptly crashed into his back, sending him sprawling. He was tallish, and had a good long ways to go when he fell. With his hair flopping into his face, he couldn't quite see where he was falling to. A sensible person might have stuck their hands out in front of them, but Cooper instead waved his off to the side, apparently hoping for some sort of magic to happen.

Some sort of magic happening was not an event that was likely to occur today, and it did not. Cooper, blinding and flailing, instead smashed his forehead into the broken chair. His forehead tore open and immediately starting bleeding, and consciousness began to slip away from the unlucky man. Weakly, he tried to get up, but felt overwhelmed by tiredness. As he quietly drifted off, he wondered about maybe going to a doctor. Did he have insurance? He couldn't remember. Probably not.