It's the slight tugging at the Mote that Glacius detects first; it draws his attention up from his intent washing, done as though scrubbing the ink from the clothes could somehow also scrub his mind clean of the equally dark worries that stain it. The ice alien looks up as his hands still... is he... imagining things? Given how completely and utterly drained Carlisle was, there's no way he's ready to rise yet, is there?

Deciding to find out for himself, Glacius sets the soap and washcloth down and turns off the faucet for the time being before wandering out into the kitchen, where he now detects quiet noise. Not just any noise, though—the telltale sounds of tea-making in progress, the clatter of ceramics and the scratching of chalk on the counter-top. Sure enough, there Carlisle is, going about one of his favorite rituals; the sight is familiar enough that it's a comfort, but only briefly.

"Carlisle..! What are you doing up... and..." the ice alien trails off, quickly noticing all the oddities before him. The jittery, uncoordinated movements as if he's going about the motions on autopilot, and most noticeably, the unnatural light emanating from his eyes. It's not the normal glow they possess even when calling upon the Mote; it is brighter, unworldly, making it seem more as though his partner has two soulless orbs stuck in his skull than anything. Glacius' gills flutter, unnerved.

"Can... can you hear me, my partner?"