"...No, I guess not," he says slowly. He looks down at his hands; rubs his fingertips together. Something sings in the friction-or-lack-thereof, something he'd only half noticed until Sheogorath pointed it out. But now it's really bugging him, enough that he keeps trying to wipe his hands on his pants as he takes a seat in the kitchen, grimacing when the noise strikes at odd angles against the taste in his mouth.

Okay. Breathe. Focus on one thing. Maybe the ripples again? Yeah, that'll help.