[ He settles in opposite of Elizabeth, but nothing about his expression or his posture suggests he's at ease. In fact, tension is all over his frame and might as well be coming off him in waves. And as Elizabeth continues talking, that tension gives way to anger. ]

Yeah, I'm the Writer, for all the good that's doing me. What the hell is the point in being the Writer when I have no idea what I'm doing or if it's even making a difference?

[ He shoots a glare at her and his hand curls around the flashlight he's holding as his temper rises. ]

You think I'm just letting this happen? That it's my fault I don't remember? That I'm trying to run away from something instead of dealing with whatever the hell it is head on?

[ He shakes his head, and then there's a loud sound as he slams the flashlight onto the surface in front of him. ]

You sitting there telling me these things is- it's not helping. What are you doing here, anyway, besides trying to piss me off?

[ He's so angry that he doesn't even notice the woman at the door. What he does notice is the flash of the geometric pattern and a kind of chime going off in his mind. But he's too incensed to even look right now. ]