"How long can you keep that up?"

“Is depends on who is touching me, yeah?”

The actual answer, of course, depends on how he goes about it. But that’s less pithy and doesn’t involve shirtless hugs.

Well.  He'd love a hoverboard for three, that'd be absolutely sick.  And he's willing to offer Misha a hand in order to achieve that.

“You know, is easier if you specify result than process. ‘I want to be there soon’ is better than ‘I want a motorbike.’” Not that he isn’t delighted to have them looking for useful stuff. But come one. Can’t he have a little creative freedom?

"Last time I didn't get specific, you set me on fire."  Illusion fire, but still.  Okay, fine.  There's a victim group over there, and he'd love a way to get the victim here, or get there to the victim.

“Yes! But was very easy fire! Actually easier than bucket of water!

“You don’t understand? Is okay. Me neither!” Well. He somewhat understood, but certainly not well enough to convey in a second language.

“You must trust process. Believe in process. No try to control, just feel. Like Star Wars.”

Next time, we're trying this outside of a dungeon first, what the fuck?!  Okay.  Fine.  He takes a second, and tries to capture the sense of being in-tune with his brain.  The feeling he gets while he's ruminating on a run.  What does he want?

He really just wants the victims out, and the monsters dead.

We did try it outside a dungeon first. Tutorial’s over, gloves are off; now we get to play for real.

We want to be the heroes. There are people and we will go to them. We will save them. We will get them out of here. We shall be as angels, swooping in to—

We do still want the hoverboard, though. Is that an option?

No.

Sorry.

We have what we need. We can get there. In fact, we’re already—

“Close your eyes. Both of you.”

I'm going to regret this, aren't I.  He mantles himself and Graviton in a few wisps of power.  Just in case.

"...Okay."

Eyes closed.

Wow. They actually did it. That’s flattering.

It does actually tend to make people better at wishing for things, but mostly he had said that to buy a little time. This was an excellent opportunity for a very specific kind of wish fulfillment: namely, that he was fucking bored with Ha Si-Yeon’s weird rules and now he finally can stretch his wings. He has been doing his best to relax inside this legal straitjacket, but come on. The last time he’d gone this long without friends in his head, he was a mousy blond kid with a stutter. He would sooner die of backlash than waste this chance.

It’s what I deserve, anyway.

Is that kind of talk any way to get people moving? No. We can do better than that. We need a message, something to draw them along—

We want to remain here, though. Many of us like this place! We could hang out here forever, in this comestible solitude, far from our worries—

Then we bring their worries to them.

Misha pulls out his cell phone and mimes dialing a number, then puts it to his ear and starts to speak, in perfect if high-pitched English. “Hi, honey, where the heck are you? We’re already late! No, I told you to be ready—come on! Run! Head straight—do you see, way in the distance? I’m waving at you!” And so he is! Waving and waving, an arm over his head! “You can come back after your appointment, but so help me if you make us any later—! Okay, see you in a moment, dear, mommy loves you. Buh-bye.”

...What the heck is he doing? She opens an eye to squint at him suspiciously.

What.

He’s doing Your Mom, of course.

As in an impression of her. Into his disconnected phone. You know, normal dungeon-rescue activities.

“Oi! Didn’t I say close your eyes? I’m not mad, just very disappointed.”

He grins wide enough to fit an ear of corn lengthwise. In his normal voice, he says, “Alright, show over.”