And the mockery just became too much effort to maintain. A bad thing just happened in Wormwood Station. That is literally what’s supposed to be happening, all the time, [i]forever.[/i] Why is this concept so hard for everybody?!
[s]
Whatever. The Fool would be a Fool. Let him dance in his frivolities and jape in his wordplay. He would do what no one in this blasted world seemed capable of doing; the smart thing.[/s] 

At least the Fool understood the logic of this place. And, logically speaking, while only one of them needed to be alive to pull the lever, the odds of him staying among those living increased when with a group. So, the smart thing, of course, would be to stay close by. Not because he cared! Because he didn’t. Carinadir didn’t care one whit. He never cared one whit. How else did he build this horrible place? How else could he hope to endure the ceaseless torments of the unthinking rabble? And now, the ceaseless disappointments of his son, to boot.

“Show away, Fool.” Carinadir sighed heavily at the impending doom of drills and death. “You’d do it regardless, best to get it over with.” Once, twice, thrice, he struck the ground around him with his staff. Three bricks, just like any other, and wouldn’t it be just the station’s luck if those three were particularly load-bearing, in just wide enough of an area for one Carinadir to fall through?

That’s the trick with becoming self-aware. Once you get past being a pile of steel and bricks, and start getting into plans to chop your father into tiny pieces, then things can start going wrong for you too.

[Rolling to Get Away: 5 + 4 + 2 = [b]11[/b], Carinadir gets there quietly, drawing no attention, and also without taking harm along the way.]