[ The mood he's in is definitely elusive, as all of his moods are. He's a temperamental bastard, with a hair-trigger temper and a habitual case of Yapp-itis, to begin with. In approaching Ratio, there's a calm over him. An eerie quiet held tight to his person, the mark around his throat a pale, washed-out grey to suggest the hold that the Lord has upon him is not as strong. Present, but not as strong. Every now and then, a light flickers across his eyes — muscles twisting against the rope, like he might go for Ratio. Only to settle back down, in conversation.

Controlled, for now. ] Yes. I think I will be most helpful in an assistive position this time, rather than taking direct action.

[ Because of his condition. His eyes follow the line of Ratio's body, down to the heap of skulls he's gathered up, and he tips his head thoughtfully at the familiar shape they've been lumped into. Yay, pyramids. ]

I am not in this for the glory of it. I am powerful and that is fact, but the recognition of my name or deeds is beyond my given role. No matter what I do, whether my intention is good or not, I am to be seen as functioning in the worst possible manner.

[ He gestures to the skulls. ]

That being said, want me to take care of those for you?