[ It's an unpleasant note to his voice, that sneer. It doesn't suit those gentle, thorough hands; he'd like to say it doesn't suit the wide and staring eyes, but that's not true. This kid is a burning filament, a white-hot beacon of intensity, and the disdainful twist in his voice comes sharp and natural.

Echoed back at him, it sounds like: your scenery. Your wasteland, your horror, this ruin you've made and hidden.

God is unmoved. ]

If you want to see the crater, I'm happy to give you a tour. [ Watch it. ] So, what: you just came for a quick poke around, to see what you could see? Maybe figured we'd have better weather?

[ If this is a whim of Trench, he wants to hear it admitted aloud. If this is something Lazarus can do, a secret weapon, a way to pry: well, he'd like to hear that admitted, too. They can have a chat about it. ]