Darsby, now unclouded by deadly fatigue, gives new life to emotions he earlier expressed via physicality and tone. His previous habits of tiredness and exasperation appear to be rooted at least partially aside from his bodily state. He had the air of an intellectual on the verge of discovering some foreboding, all-encompassing truth. To speak and interact with this being was to talk with someone who lacked humor due to his mind being somewhere far removed from present circumstance.

"You're unlike most humans. I'd suspect you to be in relative distress after dealing with today's happenings. It's strange you find it good." Her sarcasm had flown in the exact opposite direction of Darsby whilst he shrugged apathetically, caring not for whatever undertones Anora may be trying to establish. The remainder of her words passed over him as fluid across a stone, doing little to move or mold him in their short-lived disparity. 

Darsby gazed into the afternoon sky through jaded slits of radiant pinkish dye. Bags the size of suitcases could have hooked into the underside of either eye and they'd be wholly at home. His back hunched forward so both arms could rest atop denim-coated kneecaps. Gentle wafts of air play cheerfully with his hair in contradiction to an overly saturated figure of grim sanctity. You'd suspect him to be the detective of an H.P. Lovecraft story, facing his final demise with solemn repose.

Once Anora finished speaking and pointing, Darsby would turn his head toward her. His eyes again bled emotion and spirit in profound yet somehow subtle ways as they did before he collapsed by the road two hours earlier. A mother having a regrettable, but, necessary conversation with her dearly loved child. Someone driving by the body of an animal laying dead on the side of the road, feeling regret over its untimely demise. All of this shifting suddenly towards the feeling of watching a grown cat shelter it's infant from the rain in a dark corner of urban jungles. Steep roads where a parent drives safely to avoid swerving out of control with their family asleep in the car on a long journey home. These would all wrap themselves into one dense emotional amalgam that slips as wind through the heart. However brief it was, it still got the entirety of its point across in some cold, distant manner. 

"Our deal stands. You deserve two answers still. Ask away whenever you want." He'd state simply, his expression unchanged as those words end his glancing in her direction. Darsby now stares back out into the endless horizon before him, something alien yet human collide together in the visual of him sitting there. He is motionless, more so than most any person could truthfully accomplish. He is also full of some longing natural to most any deep-thinking individual, that face searching the earth galloping before it as if some faintly world-revealing poetry were being actively written beneath it. His concern and hostility are far from Anora if they even debatably live at all inside that callously softened aesthetic. His revolver looks more as a piece to some nonchalant artistic statement than it does anything to be used for violence.

In truth, darsby danced mentally between old memories and the task at hand. He'd need to carefully sort his immediate goals before taking any action involving Anora. He'd also need to crawl from whatever dark place he'd been falling into over the course of this past month as a human. Being away from his home and duties had done much more than expected to sabotage the outlook he'd usually hold in all matters at hand.