Jason found himself smiling, just a little, when Kurt laughed. it was hard not to. And while the other man may have thought his digits clumsy and thick, he was intrigued by them, the adeptness of just three fingers instead of five, the gripping power they appeared to have, to allow Wagner to cling to ledges and walls, trees and the gargoyles that he sometimes mirrored.
"All right, then. You just tell me if it gets to be too much." He took Wagner's senses one at a time, taste and scent retreating first, followed by sound, then touch, and finally vision, until it was just the two of them, sitting on a concrete planter overflowing with merlot and gold colored mums that moved in a breeze that didn't touch either of them. He was taking his time only as a courtesy to his companion, knowing full well that sometimes a drastic shift like that, with none of his normal subtlety, did more damage than he wanted. This was also the reasoning behind staying there, with Kurt, visible to the other man.
"Our first stop is in Manhattan, underneath the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Normally I'd take the time to enjoy myself, but I'll sacrifice a view of the tombs for expediency." He started them off with just visual cues, entering the Met after hours through the loading dock and making their way down into the catacombs of the building. Even after all these years, he still found it odd to have all of the visual and auditory cues of motion, without his body being involved. Slowly, he allowed sound and scent to creep into the vision as he moved their mind's eyes' deeper into the sub-basements, where not even those curators who had worked there for decades knew all of the building's secrets. There, in the northwest corner of the deepest level, nearly one hundred feet below ground, was a squat, windowless room, stuffed with a few crates and a car covered in heavy canvas.
Pointing, Jason indicated an empty area in front of the vehicle. "It should be safe for you to aim there. And the car itself is on a rather cleverly hidden dumbwaiter that will take us back up to the loading docks." Standing, Wyngarde moved to the crate closest to them, pushing at the heavy oak slat with a satisfied nod. "You can get up and move around. I'll make sure you don't bump into anyone or hurt yourself back in Westchester. Feel free to poke around."