Yeah, that's about how he thought that would go over. No one's ever understood how life itself is made up of numbers, how you can't take a single step without moving a certain distance, can't take a single breath without passing a second of time. Not even his dad appreciated it, and he'd taught him how to use this understanding for his power in the first place. But then the old bastard never really appreciated anything.

"Yeah, actually." What gave it away? Was it the way he's clucking over them like a mother hen? Though now that the girl seems to be keeping her hands to herself, he does lean back a little for her to see, looking down at the most recent, unfinished page. It's a fairly chaotic set of equations, entire sections scribbled out or over, interspersed with graphs and question marks and references to previous pages. He runs a hand over it all. "They're gonna get me home. If I get 'em right this time, anyway." He doesn't sound entirely as confident about that as he'd manage if he was sober.