Watching the lighter wiggle in front of his face, he tugged the pack from his pocket and tapped it sharply on his palm to dislodge a pair of cigarettes. He lit one between his lips and lit the other with the first, a slick little move that looked a bit too practiced as he handed one to her with a nod. The nicotine in his lungs felt good--something normal, something calming, and having a cigarette helped him keep his cool. He wasn't a badass or anything, but as he let the smoke drift past his lips he at least felt like he had a better handle on himself than the girl who was ranting about horror movies, or the girl who criss-cross-applesauced in the middle of the dusty floor.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">"Does anyone know what that says up along the arch way?"</span><br/><br/>The young woman who'd tried the doors before seemed to be a bit teasing of the whole thing, but if nothing else he could respond to genre-girl's question. "She's right." He added idly, ashing the cigarette on the ground to the side of his little love-seat. Somehow he got the feeling that between the trippy ceiling and the dust everywhere, a bit of smoke wasn't going to hurt anything. "Cinis, Cinnis, Omnes Cadent. Ashes, ashes, we all fall. Someone's a barrel of laughs around here." Another breath of smoke, deeper than he'd meant. He let it curl up past his lips and over his face, ghosting it and realizing that if he kept this up he'd smoke himself right out of his pack. Usually it took finals to get him this worked up.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">â€œWould anyone like to reveal any crazy uncles or psychopathic friends while weâ€™re all here?â€</span><br/><br/>The more the red head on the floor spoke, the more he got the feeling that she was starting to really wig out. He could hear the bite in her voice, see the way she pulled in her shoulders... the last thing any of them needed was someone going postal, and he couldn't bring himself to waste the opportunity to seem like he had himself together. After the hobo spoke up, he shook his head and took the cigarette from his lips.<br/><br/>"We weren't just drugged and dragged off." He said pointedly, trying to get everyone's attention. With everyone so freaked out, the best thing he could do was look like he had a clue what was going on and keep everyone from freaking. "We popped in, we'll probably pop back out. Everybody just keep your head, hold on, and I'll bet it all just goes away."<br/><br/>Or it wouldn't, of course. Even as he said it, he poked holes in it--people just didn't pop into places anymore than they just came undrugged standing up in a circle. Hallways didn't just stretch to nothing, ceilings didn't go on forever. They weren't in danger because they hadn't seen any yet, but how the<span style="font-style: italic">fuck</span>did they get here?! If that could happen, who could say what else could happen?<br/><br/>His hand with the cigarette shook enough that some of the ash drifted to the leg of his pants, its smoke a jerky little trail of grey up into the ceiling. He slid the cigarette back between his lips, crossed his hands over his chest and leaned back into the couch, letting his head rest against the back of it. It would be fine. Everything would just work out. No way this was real.<br/><br/>"It's just a house, guys. We'll be fine, just wait it out. And I got nothing, man, sorry."<br/><br/>It would be<span style="font-style: italic">fine</span>.