Well if it's worth anything, Zagreus doesn't seem to care for it much either. "Stop that," he scolds the unicorn, like it's a housepet run slightly amok, like he's in any position to reprimand a large and angry equine that seems hell bent on squaring off with an equally offended monster. "Don't make me think in that language, I've earned better than that sort of torture. And I most certainly exist, same as you, even if I don't always put in the effort that I should. You're thinking of similes."

The chimaera, taking its cue from Zagreus' obvious disapproval of any metaphysical manifestation standoffs, takes a pointedly unconcerned seat. Every ostentatious set of eyes refuses to acknowledge the unicorn, though the serpent tale still watches surreptitiously; no dramatic posturing is worth getting skewered or trampled. Alecto addresses the TARDIS with resignation, something like real woe, "He knows he ought to. I can't really fault him for not, though."