Paul has kept up a running commentary with his free, ungloved hand as he worked open the puffball with the black gloved other, a litany of observations and asides about the science of the mycological. The details are imprecise in House Sign, a language never exactly meant for discussion of the world down to such detail, its focus much more on the human side of the environment. There are a dozen ways to denote a hidden enemy in the crook of fingers, but only one for fungus.

But he gets by, forming compounds and allusions that he doesn't stop himself to realize will mostly be lost on his companions even if they were paying close attention. He's talking to himself more than anyone as the coiled interior of the mushroom is revealed and he slits a slice cleanly away to decant into a specimen vial - which he almost fumbles at Kaworu's soft intrusion.

"Kaworu," he says aloud, fondly, a little louder than he usually would, and turns to kiss his sweet little angel forehead. "You aren't watching at all, are you?"