The chambers below are the opposite of riveting. Monocular floating Roman letters aside, there just isn't much to see. The dubiously sentient things sure seem to think he's a sight for sore eyes, though. There are dozens of them, clustering around him in ever-shifting patterns, glistening single eyes blinking (or not blinking) like ripples in water, and the way they stare at him, it's almost familiar.

"Sure. Eye spy you too." The ceiling shifts, a sound of dry stone scraping itself into grit and sand against more of the same. A faint dusting of sediment warns him before the sky actually falls, long enough for him to make an attempt at shooing the Unown away.

"Show's over. Do I have to carve a path here or are you gonna make yourselves scarce for me?"

Then the upper floor parts and most of the semiotic scopophiles scatter--

All but one. A single iteration of a single grapheme hangs around, as though waiting specifically for the body dropping in from above.

Dirk does not say anything when she lands maybe a yard away, her back to him. The lone drifter catches her attention--

Oh - it's you again?

And Dirk's mouth runs interference.

"Funny. I was just about say the same thing."