Re: The stairwell to the eighth floor, 12:03 AM.
"Ah, brain tumour, well now that'd be something I'd feed the fish to." He stretched out his legs, mimicking her movements only in an attempt to relax himself. He was beginning to get used to talking so strangely, and beginning to hate himself for it.
"Aye, but for all we know, we both could very well be real. Or someone else's figments." He stood up again, carefully shuffling a little distance between the two for safety reasons (fear of female PMSing, for example). "Either way, this figment is heaving off to a land of plenty known to some as me bed. Goodnight, dear lassie, I hope we meet again," he smiled, though he appeared to be hurrying in a slow-fast walking manner to get back to his room on the seventh floor.