Alten's eyes rested on the bandage, a sigh escaping his lips as he tilted his head, as if trying to decide if the bandage, his leg, or this room were real at all. He doubted his leg was an illusion, he had had that in thew dome. Maybe this was all just a product of his shocked mind, and in fact he was still laying in the sewer access, the fire he felt in his leg was in fact the squirming of hundreds of vipers eating him alive. He sighed again, closing his eyes and shaking away the thought, or the illusion, whichever came first.<br/><br/>No, he decided, this had to be real. Not because of his leg, or the bed, or the food that smelled real enough in the bowl before him, or in the bowl across the room. But because of the creature in the chair. He was always a clever child but his imagination was lacking even in grade school. No illusion, no dream, no flash on the edge of a dying brain could produce a creature like that, so horrifying and yet so beautiful at the same time. He looked up, then down, finding no words to describe his panic, his fear to the strange, alien beauty in the seat. It was not attraction, but fascination that drew him, an odd kind of focus, like a crying sheep in a storm always moving towards the baying of another. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, then tried again, but was stopped yet again. Small talk, he was good at that, why couldn't he do this? "W-" He began, clearing his throat, "Where do you hail from stranger?" He cringed visibly, surprising himself with the line that would of been suited for one of the bad Camelot movies in the dome. He was no knight, the line, just stuck somewhere deep in his head from long ago had become dislodged or something. Perhaps he had hit his head, when they threw him from the dome.