[In a way, Koby's doing the same thing -- focusing on Mihawk, letting the reality of his presence steady the frenetic buzz of anxiety that's been bubbling beneath his skin since waking up. The neat, orderly rows of unfamiliar houses, the blazing sun, the dull ache of pain in his shoulder -- none of it seems to really register, when Koby looks up, watches Mihawk's impassive face, listens to his drawling, calm tone. That's the voice that belongs in the real world, a place Koby desperately wants to return to. Mihawk is a tether to reality, and Koby's a little stunned by how grateful he is for that.

It occurs to him, absently, that it'd be even better if he could actually grab onto and feel and touch said tether -- but Koby pushes the thought away, sticks his hand in his pocket instead. The brush of the silk handkerchief is good enough, for the moment.]

Right. Somewhere else. The houses all seem to be set up the same, mostly, so I'm assuming they're all stocked up. Daisy wouldn't want her toys to starve. [There's already a touch of loathing in Koby's voice -- alert the media, he's expressing disapproval of an authority figure. Then again, Daisy is much closer to Alvida than Garp, as far as those figures go.] I can't guarantee it's what youre used to, but wine is wine, right?

[No culture, this one. Koby nods, determined and bloody and pale.] I can walk. I'll be fine.