Rush blinks fiercely and rapidly several times, shaking his head in an effort to dislodge the mental detritus generated by the vast amount of irrationality being thrown at him. Animals, as representations of selves. How thoroughly inane.

A slight pressure around his ankles diverts his attention. Arista stares blithely up at him, somehow managing to communicate both a mocking innocence and a look that could only be described as smug.

"Fucking excellent," says Rush wearily, unconsciously echoing Arista's earlier sentiment. "How very logical and intuitive."

"You are," says Arista with the air of insufferable patience, "a lot of work, Nick."

Rush shuts his eyes. That's fair fucking perfect, that is.