[The Trick (tm) is easy, and once he reminds himself that performing the work and being careful with these parts a live person are not mutually exclusive, so is the remainder of the removal. Having the necromantic hold to focus on in the background serves as a kind of anchor, rather than a split of his attention; it's a reference point in the — admittedly — messy rest of the thing. A steady trickle of thanergy here, the precise movement of his hands there, a murmured story or several about bone morph resonances — and then it's done.

At some point he'd fallen into the kind of fugue state one can only be in when so entirely focused on the work, and placing the final crystal down to pile gently with the rest brings him out of the rhythmic pattern of it; he blinks back to now, watching Paul while he wipes his hands on the last semi-clean corner of the towel. It's hardly actually clean, but never mind it now.]

The who? It isn't hard — [don't get an ego, Cam's voice helpfully pipes in from so many relevant memories, aha-] Well, I already live in one of them.

[He makes a face, a smile that isn't quite sure Paul isn't going to abruptly fall sideways and yet is still endeared by his odd enthusiasm. He moves to cross back to the chairs, pausing a moment to touch Paul's shoulder — careful now, and ah, he wipes an errant smear of blood with his thumb as an afterthought. It makes no tangible difference to how much blood either of them has on himself, but, you know. Habit.

Now, speaking of people who should sit, sir...]

I'm fine. [Well. He's favoring one leg over the other as he turns to sink into the chair, but he's not as bad as Paul! The bar has been set. Give it a few minutes, because he's not going to let this thing fester, but he's patently exhausted.] You should sit, too. Before you fall over. I only brought one towel, but...