[ There's a blink at the name Coulson, kind of glitchy, out of rhythm, but he doesn't interrupt, conditioned as he's decided to be to yank on the reins at any curiousity that has to do with Back Home in spite of, you know. It not meaning anything. It still doesn't, but some things probably need a little more familiarity, liquor in a glass. Sitting down.

Strange, too, at his own impulse towards skepticism at some kind of fear dimension sitting adjacent to his home planet, when here he is, Game of Thronesing it up with a nightmare plane that leaks demons, maybe people shaped from dreams.

He rubs his face, his own version of Fitz's nose pinching. ]

'Member when just outer space was the thing? Simpler times.

[ He refolds his arms. ] You recall if that energy was manipulable by anything or anyone who wasn't a wizard?