The entire layout of the house feels strange -- too big, too much space. Koby's used to the tight, cramped quarters of a ship or a Marine barracks, people all crammed in together with the smell of ocean and the constant movement of a deck. He feels whatever the opposite of seasick must be, landsick. Or -- he thinks he does. That terrifying clown woman, she'd said it was all fake. All made up.

Koby shakes it away, swallowing hard and clutching at the vase with one arm. "I don't...think it's a plant." Then again, what does he know? Absolutely nothing. Less than nothing. Taking in a deep breath, he nods, shuffling closer to the door and reaching out with one shaky hand. He can hear the rumble of thunder, the drive of rain, and he instinctively braces himself, used to the pitch and roll of the sea (or is he, is he, is he?).

And then he's grabbing the knob and wrenching the door open, lifting the vase high and already swinging it down at -- nothing. Absolutely nothing. Sunshine and birds and calm, peaceful silence. Koby stumbles forward, brought off-balance by how hard he'd swung the vase, nearly tumbling forward onto his face. "I -- what?"