[Cursing the can and its utter inability to hold his attention for long, Carlisle sets it aside and places himself near the wall, trying to stay out of Qubit's way as he tidies up. He's been back here before, but he's never quite noticed how their familiarity with one another has changed until now. He recalls the first time he walked into Qubit's lab and saw the technology surrounding him: he'd stayed as far from all of it as he could, not wanting to touch anything for fear it might explode. Its very presence made him nervous beyond all measure.

And here he is now in Qubit's private quarters, considering examining his 'blow dryer' in the hopes of distracting himself from emotions he ought not be able to feel, ones that make him even more nervous. How times change. He keeps his hands to himself, fiddling with the fabric of his scarf.]

Yes, perfectly well. Or as well as expected, given my physical condition. [He means the fact he's dead and, in some places, skeletal.] I am grateful for that, admittedly. The end of my life was unpleasant, to say the very least. Perpetually sore, tired, and stiff.

[He almost feels more alive than he did then, and that's truly something.]