Locus studies him for a good, hard minute at that. It certainly gives away no small level of detail...and as much as Washington likes to pretend they have nothing in common, those similarities do have a way of cropping up.

Alright. If they're speaking in cold, hard facts rather than platitudes, maybe they'll get somewhere. Locus's shoulders straighten stiffly. His head bobs slightly, as though to say 'there, you see?' without so many words.

"I can't go out there likes this."

But there are words he avoids all the same. Implications he skirts. He doesn't want to come to terms to the truth of the matter, the fact that he's been burying in denial all this time. That there is, in fact, something wrong with him. Something broken that refuses to heal, like a bone that never set itself straight.

If he is that broken, to the point he cannot function without something like this occurring, what good is he to anyone?