[loaded question, but the simplest answer is best, probably. it's also the only one he can manage, a pause and a small glance toward the source of the ruinous smoke before blinking, settling his mouth into a resolute line, and giving a grim nod to the other.]

Like shit, but I'm not coming apart at the seams.

[it sounds melodramatic. he doesn't care so much about that. the missing parts are still missing, but the little that's left has compacted itself into a determined, pissed off little lump. he can stand without stumbling, and he does, waiting to see if his savior does, too.]

Here I'd thought music therapy was bullshit. Huh. Maybe I should have listened to whoever told me to go. [the spectre of a smile almost - but it doesn't reach his eyes. perhaps after this macabre farce is over (rules, why do these things have rules, why stand on ceremony and ritual if nothing else makes any sense?) he'll remember who'd suggested he go. his attention's on that pile of embers now, and he directs the finger of admonishment at it.] I bet you know. I bet you know everything.