A leathery tongue struts slowly over the lower, then the upper lip of Ahllasta's vicious mouth. Sharp canines are seen for a brief moment behind meaty lips. Feral eyes pace Anora's figure for roughly five seconds straight before speech again enters this encounter. Her vascular arms split from one another to place hands on burly hips.

"All I'll say is, I'd like to defeat Darsby. Before I could witness anything other than this reproachful form-" Ahllasta kicks at Darsby's limp leg, a light *crack* being heard from beneath his flesh as she does so. "-my partner shot him down. I'll help you, so long as you don't get in the way when I see fit to make good on my grudge." Each sentence passes quickly into the growls and sneers that follow her words. She sounds like an animal accustomed to speech only enough for it to look relatively natural, words being a tool she only employs when needed. She speaks just silently enough for her partner not to hear of any bargaining happening in the living room.

The grey-suited man can be heard from the living room. Sighs, "yes, I know" and "I get it, but this is big, I'm sure" can be heard on several occasions past the thin living room walls. One finger is lightly tapping against Ahllasta's hip to express urgency over time. The rest of her is motionless aside from animalistic facial features, making that one fidgeting appendage stand out. 

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Darsby swims in a sea of dislocated words. He's taken to sorting out the sentences he's spoken to others after deciding he is physically somewhere entirely foreign. Words collide to form coherent statements about him; statements align to express when everything was said. Perhaps by understanding his own need to say what he said he can understand what pushed him into this state. Perhaps he'd be better off sticking to what he's most recently witnessed, either way, it's better to start somewhere specific than nowhere in particular. At least, he hopes he's taking a correct course of action.