The shower had done wonders in waking him up, though it hadn't exactly done wonders for Peter's mood. Especially since he'd heard some scuffling coming from Rachel and Claude, and... oh, for god's sake.
"Rachel, did you really have to hit him?" Peter asked, exasperated. Despairing at the fact that they definitely weren't going to get along - then again, did Claude ever get along with anybody? - Peter headed round the corner to get dressed in whatever he found first. Once he'd done that, he walked over and threw himself into a chair at the kitchen table, nearly finishing the coffee in one long swallow. God, what time was it? He was certain he hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep.
Flicking wet hair out of his face, Peter narrowed his eyes at Claude, trying to get a good look at his black eye. It didn't look too bad, thankfully, but Peter couldn't help his concern. Automatic nurse reflex, or something.
"Calling me a mess isn't really going to help," Peter muttered, grabbing an apple from the bowl in the middle of the table. "And don't insult Rachel," he added absently. "What kind of work? If it's throwing me off something, I'll pass, thanks."
"I really, really did," Rachel hollered back, sounded pissed. Claude's far-too innocent smirk attested to the truthfulness of that statement.
"How do you know what will help and what won't? Not doing to well on your own, are you?" Claude's eyebrows raised and he took the final pastry from the box. "Throwing you off things worked just fine the last time. But no. You're past that stage now. You can get the notecards out, it's the holding on to them that's got you all scattered."
He finished off his coffee and nodded at Rachel. "Be a dearie and get the explodin' man and me some more coffee." His smirk only grew at her evil look, and, with a warning glare and an arched eyebrow at Peter, Rachel shoved away from the table to get a fresh pot brewing. Normally she'd give Claude a matching set of eyes, but if he really could help Peter, she'd bite her tongue. To a degree.
Claude's eyes tracked her for a minute, thoughtful, before turning back to Peter. "Thought you said you didn't have people here?" he said, voice lowered so Rachel couldn't hear. "She know what you can do, then? Or are you just using her for some rough and tumble?"
Glaring furiously at Claude for the little 'exploding man' crack, Peter had to admit that he was surprised that Rachel was getting them more coffee without punching Claude in the face again. That was an interesting development. Peter didn't even want to think about what he might have done to deserve the black eye.
For a moment, he had to collect his thoughts and try and remember exactly what Claude meant about the notecards. Oh, he'd made some metaphor about... cards in a shoebox, and something about plutonium. Claude really had the strangest metaphors sometimes.
"I... yeah, she knows what I can do," Peter replied quietly, darting a nervous glance at Rachel. She wouldn't be able to hear him, but having some kind of sound-muffling power would be really useful right now. "She doesn't know about the bomb thing, though, so shut up about that," he hissed.
And he really didn't know how to reply to the question about whether she was part of his 'people'. Peter cared about her, sure enough, but - like everybody he loved - he wouldn't hesitate to leave her if need be. "We're not... married," he explained lowly. "Well, we are, but the Hat forced a bunch of people. It wasn't by choice." Distancing from people. Distancing could work, if he didn't want to trigger any powers.
"Oh, you care what she thinks, then?" Claude was watching him, brow furrowed slightly as he thought, studying Peter as if trying to pull some answer out. "Would you be with her if you weren't forced is the question."
Peter was an empath. And Claude knew, full well, that an empath's powers came from other people. Not just any abilities they might be able to soak up. But the actual core of their powers came from being around people, caring about them, loving them. It also could kill them, which is why Claude had warned Peter away from making attachments.
But seeing Peter now was like seeing someone on the verge of drying all up. As opposed to having family and friends around him now, Peter claimed no one in his inner circle, no one that he felt close to. And that was killing him as well.
So Claude faced the chore of trying to figure out how to have Peter strike a balance. If left to his own devices, he'd burn up, try to help too many people and not spend any time on himself. He'd explode just from reaching out to too many. But if there was no one, well... He'd go mad. Curl up into a ball and just lose it. If he were stronger, sure, maybe, but not how he was now. Not a chance.
Much as Claude hated to admit it, Peter probably needed people. People he wouldn't walk away from, people who wouldn't walk away from him. And if the little bastard told him 'I told you so', Claude was going to throw him off another building.
Of course Peter cared what Rachel thought. He cared what everybody thought about him, really, but Rachel slightly more so. She'd been forced to live with him - if he hadn't cared about that, he wouldn't have told her about what he could do. And if that had been the case, Rachel would likely still be thinking that he had random attacks of anger and threw things across the room. It had been sharing what he could do that had brought them closer together.
"I'm not with her, we're just... friends," Peter explained, still keeping his voice down. That was kind of a confusing question, though. Claude was, it seemed, all about saying confusing things. "I don't know, I probably wouldn't have even met her if this random marriage thing hadn't happened."
But despite trying to keep away from people to keep them safe, Peter hadn't left yet. He wanted to, but the idea of being away from the people he cared about - people, in general, even - caused an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach. He needed people, he could admit that. Peter just wasn't sure if it tied into his powers, though.
"My brother, Nathan, is here," he told Claude. "But he only came to make sure I was alive, so he's leaving soon, back to his job and family. Back to more important things," Peter couldn't keep the bitter twist out of his voice.
Huffing out an impatient sigh, Claude leaned forward. "You're missing the point, Peter. I'm not asking about ifs and maybes. And I'm not asking if your brother has plans to move in with you and braid your hair at night. I'm asking if, given a choice, if you would stay here with your Rachel."
It was an important question - it would tell Claude just how closed off Peter had become. "And when you're with her, when you feel comfortable with her, do you find your powers easier or harder to use? Same with your brother - does being around him or spending time with him, does that help you at all?"
For a brief second, Peter tilted his head slightly, trying to imagine Nathan moving in and braiding his hair. ...That was a really weird image.
"What? No, I'd move out back to my own room," Peter answered, still confused as to why Claude was asking that. "And... yeah, it helps. Always helps when they're around, if I'm trying to use their ability. Maybe because it's there and I'm just reflecting off them instead of having to pull it out, I don't know."
This was beginning to make sense, actually. Claude's questions were piecing together facts in Peter's head; he knew he needed to absorb abilities from other people, but it looked like Claude was saying that he needed people to survive, to learn and stay stable. Weird, coming from the biggest misanthrope he knew.
"Of course I'd move out," he repeated softly, looking at the apple he'd taken a bite out of. "I'm a danger to her, even when I can control this. I don't know if you know about Sylar - the guy who removes peoples brains to get their power? He... came here a few days ago. She got caught in the middle, just because I was there and Sylar was after me. I don't want to be responsible for that."
"You're an idiot," Claude decreed. "First for thinking you can protect people by not being near them. And second because you think that being apart from them is any kind of help to you. Gotta wake up and start thinking, Peter, before you wind up going nuclear on us all."
Snatching the apple from him, Claude took a bite from the other side. "Listen, mate, and listen well - you're never going to be safe. Never. No one is. If you're not around, though, where does that leave the people you love? And yeah, I say love, because you do, whether or not you want to admit it. You have to, it's a part of you, like your floppy bangs or your bug eyes. But you ever think that maybe you being there is worth the risk? That you give them something they can't get from anyone else? Your power, Peter, isn't flying or burning or walking on bloody water. Until you get that through your thick skull, there's no helping you."
Rachel returned with the coffee pot and a plate holding some eggs and bacon, which she set down in front of Peter. She'd left the two alone to talk because it'd looked important. She hadn't even tried to eavesdrop, though she wanted to. And was definitely missing Jenks' presence - he'd have had every word and could have relayed it back to her later.
As soon as she sat down, Claude jumped up, clapping Peter on the shoulder. "Eat. I'm going to go use your little invisible's room." Wandering off, he whistled jauntily, hands stuck in his pockets.
When he was gone, Rachel leaned forward to steal a piece of Peter's bacon. "Okay, want to tell me why we got woken up at some ungodly hour of the morning by a homeless man with a water bottle?"
"I don't... what?" Peter screwed up his face in confusion. His presence was not worth the risk of people dying, it never would be. Claude couldn't seriously think that. ...But, apparently, he did. And maybe Peter should take that into account, because Claude definitely seemed to know what he was talking about.
But the comment about how his power wasn't things he gained from other people... he really didn't get that. Sure, Peter had always been able to empathize with people, to communicate with them a little easier than most, but that wasn't a power, was it? He'd be nothing on his own if not for other peoples' abilities.
This was confusing.
Smiling gratefully at Rachel for the breakfast, Peter started picking at his bacon, a thoughtful crease in between his eyebrows. At her question, his expression became deeply apologetic. "Sorry, that's... Claude." Which explained it all, really, if you knew him. "Before here, I, ah - he was teaching me how to control everything," Peter waved a hand, obviously meaning his powers. "He's the one that taught me I could use stuff later, not only when I around whoever I absorbed it from. He really knows what's going on."
Absorbing this, Rachel refilled both of their coffee mugs and then nodded. "All right." Leaning back, she took a sip of her coffee, hiding a yawn behind one hand. How did humans get up this early? It was insane.
"What was he saying to you?" she asked casually, green eyes going to him over the rim of the mug. "You looked...intense. And confused."
While the two lovebirds chatted, Claude was busily going through their things. Invisible, of course. Checking out the medicine cabinet and then their bedroom, he rifled through drawers carelessly. Just investigating.
Huh. Underwear drawer. Lucky man, Peter.
The amulets were confusing, so he pocketed a few for further examination. Rachel had spell books on her side of the bed. Interesting. He continued his tour of their room, one ear attuned to the gentle murmur of voices from the kitchen.
Shifting his eggs around on the plate and poking at them with his fork, Peter shrugged lightly. "Not much," he answered. "I don't really know how my own powers work - Claude was trying to explain it to me."
Which brought up the eternal question - how did Claude know anything about empaths? Maybe there'd been others like him, and Peter tried not to get so hopeful at the thought.
"You didn't have to make breakfast, you know," he smiled crookedly at Rachel. "He's a cranky guy, but I doubt he'd actually hit you or anything." Peter absently wondered, if he refused to do something, if Claude would throw him off a roof. Probably.
Going silent while he was eating, Peter narrowed his eyes at his plate. "Claude," he raised his voice. "You'd better not be stealing anything. And I know you can hear me."
Rachel looked a little confused. Still sleep-tousled, with her hair in disarray, she blinked at Peter, then looked down at her mug. "Didn't do it because of King Hobo," she said, taking a drink of coffee and trying to act nonchalant. "I did it for you."
Like Claude could actually make her do anything. She'd had a demon dragging her kicking and screaming down the street and shoving enough ever-after into her to make some people go insane, and she still hadn't laid down and obeyed. "Did he?" she asked, trying to change the subject. "Explain them to you?"
Claude had made his way into Rachel's sparring room by that time, eyebrows raised at the space. Perfect. Little witch girl had an upside after all. Making his way back out in time to overhear Rachel's comments, he smirked. Oh. It was like that, then. He wondered if Peter knew. Probably not. Boy couldn't see past that enormous lock of bangs.
An invisible hand reached down to take Peter's bacon, making Rachel jump and then scowl. Still invisible, Claude sat down on the chair, tipping it back and grinning cheekily at Peter. "Just having a look, friend," he said. "Nice place you got here. Very cozy."
Oh, well, Peter supposed that should have been obvious. Rachel really wasn't the kind of person that did something unless she wanted to.
"Kind of," Peter replied slowly. "Claude's kind of hard to get sometimes. I think you have to understand his strange metaphors first."
He simply frowned as Claude stole his bacon, and directed a glare at him when he sat down. Within a certain range, he could see Claude when he was invisible, which was fairly useful. Poor Rachel would probably be at a loss, though.
"You could have just asked, I would have given you some food," Peter protested, shifting his plate slightly and hunching around it to hopefully protect the rest of his food.
"Less fun to ask," he grinned, amused beyond measure that Peter had missed Rachel's very obvious tell. The boy was stupid in a lot of areas, especially for an empath. "Saw your training space. It'll work nicely for what we have to do."
Rachel, pissed off that the man was obviously staying invisible just to mess with her, ignored the disembodied voice. "So, if Claude just talks in gibberish and strange metaphors, how do you know he's not just some ranting loony you picked up on the street?"
"Because he knows that I'm right," Claude responded with a grin.
"I mean, really, look what he's done so far. Broke into our tent, woke us up with some stupid squirt gun, and then proceeded to order me around like I'm some freaking waitress in a truck stop. And he grabbed my ass."
"It was right in the way!"
"I think he's unbalanced."
"You think?" Claude barked out a laugh. "Oh, that'd be a first."
Jaw set, Rachel stared at Peter for a moment. Then, closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. This was for Peter. She couldn't kill the invisible man because he was going to help Peter.
"I'm going to go take a shower."
"I'll be right in, dearie," Claude called after her, grinning widely when her back stiffened. But Rachel forced herself to keep moving forward as if she hadn't heard. She did slam the door with a bit more force than needed, though.
Chuckling to himself, Claude poured another cup of coffee and leaned back. "Domestic bliss, eh, Petrelli?"
Peter had tried to answer some of Rachel's questions. He really had. But Claude had just talked over him, leaving Peter saying a lot of "I-" and "But he-". When Rachel slammed the door to the bathroom behind her, Peter sighed heavily.
"Claude, she can probably kick your ass if she wants," Peter said around a mouthful of eggs. "I wouldn't provoke her. Seriously, she kicked my ass."
Not that his ass needed a lot of kicking to beat, though.
It would probably be better domestic bliss if Claude wasn't here right now, but having someone around who could teach him was infinitely preferable to sitting around doing nothing.
Eyes sparking at the comment, Claude leaned back. "A two week old puppy could kick your ass, Petrelli. And what do you care about her? She's just some annoying, skinny broad you're stuck with until you can work your way free, remember? Maybe if I provoke her enough, she'll leave on her own. Problem solved."
Standing, he headed into the training room. "Come on, then. Best get started."
He was walking around the edges of the mats, examining the heavily-used sparring dummy. "Don't tell me you've actually been training?" he asked, sounding incredulous. "I'd have to be impressed."
Then, shrugging off his jacket, he hung it carelessly around the shoulders of the dummy and moved forward. "Right. Ready, then?"
"Rachel, did you really have to hit him?" Peter asked, exasperated. Despairing at the fact that they definitely weren't going to get along - then again, did Claude ever get along with anybody? - Peter headed round the corner to get dressed in whatever he found first. Once he'd done that, he walked over and threw himself into a chair at the kitchen table, nearly finishing the coffee in one long swallow. God, what time was it? He was certain he hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep.
Flicking wet hair out of his face, Peter narrowed his eyes at Claude, trying to get a good look at his black eye. It didn't look too bad, thankfully, but Peter couldn't help his concern. Automatic nurse reflex, or something.
"Calling me a mess isn't really going to help," Peter muttered, grabbing an apple from the bowl in the middle of the table. "And don't insult Rachel," he added absently. "What kind of work? If it's throwing me off something, I'll pass, thanks."
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"How do you know what will help and what won't? Not doing to well on your own, are you?" Claude's eyebrows raised and he took the final pastry from the box. "Throwing you off things worked just fine the last time. But no. You're past that stage now. You can get the notecards out, it's the holding on to them that's got you all scattered."
He finished off his coffee and nodded at Rachel. "Be a dearie and get the explodin' man and me some more coffee." His smirk only grew at her evil look, and, with a warning glare and an arched eyebrow at Peter, Rachel shoved away from the table to get a fresh pot brewing. Normally she'd give Claude a matching set of eyes, but if he really could help Peter, she'd bite her tongue. To a degree.
Claude's eyes tracked her for a minute, thoughtful, before turning back to Peter. "Thought you said you didn't have people here?" he said, voice lowered so Rachel couldn't hear. "She know what you can do, then? Or are you just using her for some rough and tumble?"
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For a moment, he had to collect his thoughts and try and remember exactly what Claude meant about the notecards. Oh, he'd made some metaphor about... cards in a shoebox, and something about plutonium. Claude really had the strangest metaphors sometimes.
"I... yeah, she knows what I can do," Peter replied quietly, darting a nervous glance at Rachel. She wouldn't be able to hear him, but having some kind of sound-muffling power would be really useful right now. "She doesn't know about the bomb thing, though, so shut up about that," he hissed.
And he really didn't know how to reply to the question about whether she was part of his 'people'. Peter cared about her, sure enough, but - like everybody he loved - he wouldn't hesitate to leave her if need be. "We're not... married," he explained lowly. "Well, we are, but the Hat forced a bunch of people. It wasn't by choice." Distancing from people. Distancing could work, if he didn't want to trigger any powers.
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Peter was an empath. And Claude knew, full well, that an empath's powers came from other people. Not just any abilities they might be able to soak up. But the actual core of their powers came from being around people, caring about them, loving them. It also could kill them, which is why Claude had warned Peter away from making attachments.
But seeing Peter now was like seeing someone on the verge of drying all up. As opposed to having family and friends around him now, Peter claimed no one in his inner circle, no one that he felt close to. And that was killing him as well.
So Claude faced the chore of trying to figure out how to have Peter strike a balance. If left to his own devices, he'd burn up, try to help too many people and not spend any time on himself. He'd explode just from reaching out to too many. But if there was no one, well... He'd go mad. Curl up into a ball and just lose it. If he were stronger, sure, maybe, but not how he was now. Not a chance.
Much as Claude hated to admit it, Peter probably needed people. People he wouldn't walk away from, people who wouldn't walk away from him. And if the little bastard told him 'I told you so', Claude was going to throw him off another building.
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"I'm not with her, we're just... friends," Peter explained, still keeping his voice down. That was kind of a confusing question, though. Claude was, it seemed, all about saying confusing things. "I don't know, I probably wouldn't have even met her if this random marriage thing hadn't happened."
But despite trying to keep away from people to keep them safe, Peter hadn't left yet. He wanted to, but the idea of being away from the people he cared about - people, in general, even - caused an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach. He needed people, he could admit that. Peter just wasn't sure if it tied into his powers, though.
"My brother, Nathan, is here," he told Claude. "But he only came to make sure I was alive, so he's leaving soon, back to his job and family. Back to more important things," Peter couldn't keep the bitter twist out of his voice.
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It was an important question - it would tell Claude just how closed off Peter had become. "And when you're with her, when you feel comfortable with her, do you find your powers easier or harder to use? Same with your brother - does being around him or spending time with him, does that help you at all?"
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"What? No, I'd move out back to my own room," Peter answered, still confused as to why Claude was asking that. "And... yeah, it helps. Always helps when they're around, if I'm trying to use their ability. Maybe because it's there and I'm just reflecting off them instead of having to pull it out, I don't know."
This was beginning to make sense, actually. Claude's questions were piecing together facts in Peter's head; he knew he needed to absorb abilities from other people, but it looked like Claude was saying that he needed people to survive, to learn and stay stable. Weird, coming from the biggest misanthrope he knew.
"Of course I'd move out," he repeated softly, looking at the apple he'd taken a bite out of. "I'm a danger to her, even when I can control this. I don't know if you know about Sylar - the guy who removes peoples brains to get their power? He... came here a few days ago. She got caught in the middle, just because I was there and Sylar was after me. I don't want to be responsible for that."
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Snatching the apple from him, Claude took a bite from the other side. "Listen, mate, and listen well - you're never going to be safe. Never. No one is. If you're not around, though, where does that leave the people you love? And yeah, I say love, because you do, whether or not you want to admit it. You have to, it's a part of you, like your floppy bangs or your bug eyes. But you ever think that maybe you being there is worth the risk? That you give them something they can't get from anyone else? Your power, Peter, isn't flying or burning or walking on bloody water. Until you get that through your thick skull, there's no helping you."
Rachel returned with the coffee pot and a plate holding some eggs and bacon, which she set down in front of Peter. She'd left the two alone to talk because it'd looked important. She hadn't even tried to eavesdrop, though she wanted to. And was definitely missing Jenks' presence - he'd have had every word and could have relayed it back to her later.
As soon as she sat down, Claude jumped up, clapping Peter on the shoulder. "Eat. I'm going to go use your little invisible's room." Wandering off, he whistled jauntily, hands stuck in his pockets.
When he was gone, Rachel leaned forward to steal a piece of Peter's bacon. "Okay, want to tell me why we got woken up at some ungodly hour of the morning by a homeless man with a water bottle?"
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But the comment about how his power wasn't things he gained from other people... he really didn't get that. Sure, Peter had always been able to empathize with people, to communicate with them a little easier than most, but that wasn't a power, was it? He'd be nothing on his own if not for other peoples' abilities.
This was confusing.
Smiling gratefully at Rachel for the breakfast, Peter started picking at his bacon, a thoughtful crease in between his eyebrows. At her question, his expression became deeply apologetic. "Sorry, that's... Claude." Which explained it all, really, if you knew him. "Before here, I, ah - he was teaching me how to control everything," Peter waved a hand, obviously meaning his powers. "He's the one that taught me I could use stuff later, not only when I around whoever I absorbed it from. He really knows what's going on."
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"What was he saying to you?" she asked casually, green eyes going to him over the rim of the mug. "You looked...intense. And confused."
While the two lovebirds chatted, Claude was busily going through their things. Invisible, of course. Checking out the medicine cabinet and then their bedroom, he rifled through drawers carelessly. Just investigating.
Huh. Underwear drawer. Lucky man, Peter.
The amulets were confusing, so he pocketed a few for further examination. Rachel had spell books on her side of the bed. Interesting. He continued his tour of their room, one ear attuned to the gentle murmur of voices from the kitchen.
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Which brought up the eternal question - how did Claude know anything about empaths? Maybe there'd been others like him, and Peter tried not to get so hopeful at the thought.
"You didn't have to make breakfast, you know," he smiled crookedly at Rachel. "He's a cranky guy, but I doubt he'd actually hit you or anything." Peter absently wondered, if he refused to do something, if Claude would throw him off a roof. Probably.
Going silent while he was eating, Peter narrowed his eyes at his plate. "Claude," he raised his voice. "You'd better not be stealing anything. And I know you can hear me."
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Like Claude could actually make her do anything. She'd had a demon dragging her kicking and screaming down the street and shoving enough ever-after into her to make some people go insane, and she still hadn't laid down and obeyed. "Did he?" she asked, trying to change the subject. "Explain them to you?"
Claude had made his way into Rachel's sparring room by that time, eyebrows raised at the space. Perfect. Little witch girl had an upside after all. Making his way back out in time to overhear Rachel's comments, he smirked. Oh. It was like that, then. He wondered if Peter knew. Probably not. Boy couldn't see past that enormous lock of bangs.
An invisible hand reached down to take Peter's bacon, making Rachel jump and then scowl. Still invisible, Claude sat down on the chair, tipping it back and grinning cheekily at Peter. "Just having a look, friend," he said. "Nice place you got here. Very cozy."
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"Kind of," Peter replied slowly. "Claude's kind of hard to get sometimes. I think you have to understand his strange metaphors first."
He simply frowned as Claude stole his bacon, and directed a glare at him when he sat down. Within a certain range, he could see Claude when he was invisible, which was fairly useful. Poor Rachel would probably be at a loss, though.
"You could have just asked, I would have given you some food," Peter protested, shifting his plate slightly and hunching around it to hopefully protect the rest of his food.
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Rachel, pissed off that the man was obviously staying invisible just to mess with her, ignored the disembodied voice. "So, if Claude just talks in gibberish and strange metaphors, how do you know he's not just some ranting loony you picked up on the street?"
"Because he knows that I'm right," Claude responded with a grin.
"I mean, really, look what he's done so far. Broke into our tent, woke us up with some stupid squirt gun, and then proceeded to order me around like I'm some freaking waitress in a truck stop. And he grabbed my ass."
"It was right in the way!"
"I think he's unbalanced."
"You think?" Claude barked out a laugh. "Oh, that'd be a first."
Jaw set, Rachel stared at Peter for a moment. Then, closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. This was for Peter. She couldn't kill the invisible man because he was going to help Peter.
"I'm going to go take a shower."
"I'll be right in, dearie," Claude called after her, grinning widely when her back stiffened. But Rachel forced herself to keep moving forward as if she hadn't heard. She did slam the door with a bit more force than needed, though.
Chuckling to himself, Claude poured another cup of coffee and leaned back. "Domestic bliss, eh, Petrelli?"
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"Claude, she can probably kick your ass if she wants," Peter said around a mouthful of eggs. "I wouldn't provoke her. Seriously, she kicked my ass."
Not that his ass needed a lot of kicking to beat, though.
It would probably be better domestic bliss if Claude wasn't here right now, but having someone around who could teach him was infinitely preferable to sitting around doing nothing.
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Standing, he headed into the training room. "Come on, then. Best get started."
He was walking around the edges of the mats, examining the heavily-used sparring dummy. "Don't tell me you've actually been training?" he asked, sounding incredulous. "I'd have to be impressed."
Then, shrugging off his jacket, he hung it carelessly around the shoulders of the dummy and moved forward. "Right. Ready, then?"
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