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Upon returning to his duplex, Thom immediately headed back for his bedroom, kicking his shoes off into a corner before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He set the punctured soccer ball on his lap with a sigh, carefully inspecting the damage for the upteenth time as if there were some possible way he could repair it. There wasn't, naturally. Colche's sharp claws had popped the ball as if it were a balloon. ...He would have to see if the girl could get a hold of shoes. She was too good not to play, but they couldn't go losing balls every five minutes.

Finally convincing himself the ball was beyond repair, he set it aside and reached over to the intercom panel on the wall, pressing zero and waiting patiently for a response.

Thom raised a brow, faintly amused by the prompt reply. "Yes, is Dr. Duvert available? I 'ave a few questions for 'im."

A few minutes later, a male voice called over the intercom.

"Ah, Mr. Brinley? Is there something I can help you with?" The voice sounded a bit distracted, and right before the clear voice touched with the familiar French accent began speaking to him, there was some background murmuring.

At least the service here was nice, Thom mused as he was put on hold. Really, there wasn't so much to complain about here... Everyone acting like it was such a miserable life, pah. So they were turning into animals. They couldn't change that, so they could just accept it and move on. Poor souls. Mayhaps he would send a post card once he was away.

"Ah yes, I'm sorry t' bother you, Doctor, but.." He trailed off, eyes alighting on the punctured soccer ball. "Well, t' begin, that, ah, cheetah girl, Colche I b'lieve she said? She punctured my football, an' I would be very much obliged if a new one could be sent t' my duplex."

Aubrey's expression perked at the mention of Colche. "He played with Colche? Was he nice? Did h e like her? Did she like him? Was he gentleman," she asked Sabin softly, trying to get his attention.

Sabin waved a hand at Aubrey, trying to get her to be patient - holding two conversations at once wasn't the easiest thing to do.
In a terse whisper to the side. "It was fine, he's teaching her to play footba- er, soccer."

He turned back to the microphone, speaking more clearly to Thom. "Sure thing, could probably order you a few of them just in case. But I don't think her feet would adapt well to shoes. From what little I know though it might be best for her to kick with the top of her foot as opposed to the front. Or teach her to file her claws a bit - they ought to not be that sharp anyway. Cheetahs' claws are built to act like cleats when they run, not actually to do any damage." This was something Sabin was a bit more familiar with. Not the science-babble of nucleotides and karyotyping.

Sabin nodded patiently with the football requests. There was no problem there, and Thom even seemed to be taking everything well in stride... until the second half of the query came up.

Sabin chewed on his lip, recalling rather vividely the 'small lie' he had told him regarding the status of the rest of his teammates. "uninjured" was a far cry from the true status of the rest of the football players. And of course... the issue of leaving.

"I will see what I can do about the tape." Sabin fibbed. "Although it might take a bit, seeing as even we don't get television in the labs. Perhaps we could order one to be sent after it airs, or a few tapes of the season." Sabin commented.

"As far as returning..." He pursued his lips. Thom did seem to be taking the other islanders remarkably well. He was boggled that he hadn't realized... or perhaps just not accepted... that his story was no different. "That might be a bit of a different issue..." he hedged.

Sabin's eyes dodged with a wince to Aubrey. This wasn't his job. His job was to get them there.

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. He was slipping. He was letting himself slip. These were subjects, and he shouldn't think of them as people. Except maybe a few of them like Awen. Think of his expression... of his reaction that he too was a subject. That it wasn't just happening around him, but TO him.

He opened his eyes after the intentional big mental step down with a strange smile.

"Why, Mr. Brinley. You didn't think that you were exempt from this little experiment yourself, did you?" There was an odd sort of delight in the doctor's voice that had been absent, perhaps even hesitant or sympathetic before.