His imagination didn't go far. It rarely did. It was reeled back by irrelevance, as if leashed by a stranger, an owner who didn't own him yet but was training his attention. What was he trying to imagine, again? The twins? Yes, they were still somewhere in the room. He didn't know where exactly but so long as they hadn't gone outside he was doing a pretty reasonable job.
What is it you do? Someone was talking to him. Someone sitting at his table. Several someones were actually sitting at his table but not all of them had asked that question. One had. Not sure which. So he didn't know who to look at when he said damage control so he just said it to the middle of the table and then the man next to him said oh really and where do you do that? Maybe that was who talked before. Yes. It sounded like the same person.
This time he knew where to look, so he did look at the man. who had spoken. Wherever I am, that is what I do. Damage control. Everyone laughed of course. They always do. This Was the answer he provided and it made people laugh. He used to know why on a intellectual level. He used to understand the details of the joke but now it was just a response to a question and it was what he did. Just did. The laughter stopped and then there was another question what else do you do?
Luckily the twins saved him from that rabbit hole by starting to sneak out the door so he stood up and jogged over to them, following them into a hallway full of books that maybe were fake. Foreign, maybe. Just decorations to make the building appear to be a sanctuary for scholars or maybe real but if so no one touched the things they were too perfectly shelved for actual usage.
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