cruxisa | I was just guessing at numbers and figures.

Damn it. Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT.

Nikola Tesla throws down one of the tools he had been using to build the new version of the keycraft he had been working on in the last several hours. No. He knew it wouldn't work, he knew that if it was placed on a crystal it would probably malfunction, turning the wearer in a much worse state than the other way around...it was a hopeless cause. Why was he working on it, then? He could've just used the time to create a simpler keycraft that would work without any problems, but no, he had to make it better. Make it able to return more humanity to the wearer.

He paces back and forth, trying to think of what to do next. Because he knows exactly why he's been wasting so much time on this. If they ever got Maladict, he wanted her to have the best- it hurt, really, to think she would never be the same after what happened, but he wanted to restore as much as possible for her. The ability to taste coffee, for example, or the ability to actually feel things around her, to live her life like it had been before this whole mess had started...

Tesla sighs, before heading out of the cave to stand in the fresh air, where he could think better without the pressure of making that keycraft perfect hanging above his head. What if they never got her back? How long would she still be in that castle, a puppet to Mithos' orders? He didn't know, he didn't want to know.

The only thing he can do is keep going forward and hope everything falls into line.

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Eventually, the Once-ler deigns to join him, cigar in hand. So much for that fresh air, Tesla. He wanders over to tinker with their 'security system' for a while, leaving the other man to his...well brooding? Yes. Brooding. There's only so much time he can take with that though, so at least he decides to offer at least some words of encouragement.

"Judging by the pilers embedded in the floor in there, I'm guessing it's not going so well."

...Yeah he sucks at encouragement, this should so not be his job.

He frowns slightly at the smell of a cigarette, but doesn't comment on it- he's more than used to things clogging the air back home in the numerous laboratories he's been in, but even so, it's not like he enjoys it. He glances over at the Onceler, voice filled with sharp sarcasm:

"No, it's going perfectly, why do you ask?"

He rubs the back of his hand, inwardly berating himself. He's a genius, he shouldn't be failing at something like this? But it just felt like he was reaching the end of the rope, and there was nothing beyond that except disappointment and frustration.

The Oncer-ler arches an eyebrow at the sarcasm, before giving a shrug.

"Oh right, sorry. I forgot rage was a sign of progress."

Still, he understand the frustration. Wanting to perfect this elusive art so those poor damn people who were trapped and twisted by Mithos could finally have something like a normal life when they returned. Or as normal as was possible, anyway.

"The sooner we get that Lloyd kid back, the better. At least then we might have the crappy picture on the back of the jigsaw box to work off of."

I was just guessing at numbers and figures.

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