Vincent runs the chance of developing a headache from this nonsense, but apparently so does Phalanx. Switching gears so often, focusing and unfocusing, learning and remembering, takes a toll on the scattered entity.

Phalanx frowns and brings their gaze back down to the floor then, tipping their head to the side as if they're listening for something. The hand that doesn't have a sock clutched around it goes out, fingers demonstratively spread, while they search for words to fit the memory.

"Lines... crossing, like... a web, maybe? And some just by themselves."

Is that right? Phalanx's eyes are changing color again but they shut tight. Only a few of the pieces floating around even understand the question, let alone know how to answer, so it's hard.

"And less. Not so big."