"Of course I'm 'fine'", Tristan said with a deadpan delivery, "it's not a physical attachment. It's mental. Telepathic linking or whatever the hell you want to call it." It wasn't strictly this girl's fault that he was upset, and it probably wasn't going to do any good to vent at her. He was aware of this. He was also aware that she probably hadn't come to hear him complain. However, she had come, she certainly hadn't done anything to prevent him from being upset, and venting sounded like a better idea than curling up in a ball somewhere dark. The only reason he wasn't already ranting was because she offered to heal him. Completely terrible people were generally consistently terrible as well, after all, and it probably wasn't worth the effort.

"I appreciate the offer, though, even if I don't need it," he sighed after a moment's deliberation. "I'll be fine after getting some time to... process, I suppose. It's not the first time I've experienced death, but it's the first time they've actually been killed, if you get the difference." It was also his first experience with explosions, funnily enough. Most people generally understood that explosions caused death and should be pointed away from people. Apparently, this "Vieri" character gained magic at the cost of common sense and decency.

"Is that what you were sent for, miss? To make sure Sparkplug hadn't done any permanent damage? Or was there something else the asshole wanted?"

"Yeah, yeah, sounds good," he sighed with a flippant wave of the hand. "Make sure to play up that I'm in extreme agony or something, I don't care." It was petty and didn't actually serve a purpose, but it was fine by him if he ended up giving Static some cause for concern. Besides, it was pretty clear that the girl had lost all interest in the conversation, so he was content to get back to processing and watching for explosions. He turned and started surveying the environment, deciding where he wanted to go.

And then the girl asked him a strange question that could only be blamed on his strange phrasing. Saying that he died carried certain connotations, probably associated with the afterlife and all the questions that brought up. Of course, he could ignore those and just give the facts. If she was wanting metaphysics, she could ask specifically for metaphysics. And then be disappointed with the lack of answers.

"Well, frankly, it's painful," Tristan said as he turned back around. "It's not exactly as though it's passing of natural causes; what I've felt has been violent. A handful of falls, a couple of car accidents, one was crushed, and now a couple dozen explosive evaporations. Excruciating, widespread pain until the construct vanishes, though the pain still... persists, even though I can't actually feel it?" He hadn't actually had opportunity to explain this before, so it was difficult trying to find the words to fit. "Like, uh, phantom pains when you lose a limb. That's how I'd describe it, I think. I probably have it better than that, though, as I'm able to regrow the limb at will, for lack of better phrasing."

He thought for a moment before shrugging. "Imagine you were hit by a car and had everything break in your body, only to make a miraculous recovery. Just to get hit by another car a few weeks down the line. And then it kept happening. That's what it's like, for me."

Tristan was glad to hear that his hypothetical murder would have given his murderer a panic attack. He wished he could be surprised that mages had no respect for the lives of fellow humans, but even he wasn't nearly naive enough for that. Every time someone obtained a position even slightly over their fellow man, they instantly started to think themselves exempt from all traditional ethics and morals. He couldn't even really say that he wasn't guilty of that way of thinking. While most people were only responsible for making sure their own actions benefited humanity, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was responsible for making sure that all magekind's actions benefited humanity. If that didn't qualify as thinking of himself as a higher power than the average person, he'd rather not see what it was actually like on the other side.

He wasn't so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't realize that the girl no longer appeared to be exiting stage left. This was unexpected and, as such, confusing. And then she asked her next question and he felt like he understood. It suddenly made sense that she hadn't participated in the fight; she was studying the other mages in the room, trying to understand their abilities. Of course, she was working with the asshole who just threw around explosions in a room full of mundanes, so denying her what she wanted to know would probably be a simple, easy way to get back at Vieri indirectly. Of course, he wasn't quite that petty, and if there was any chance that someone would be able to figure out how magic worked, they'd need to know as much as they could.

Sighing, Tristan considered his answer. "Yes," he said uncertainly, "but, honestly, I couldn't say if it's actually phantom pains or just the fact that it was so recent that the memory is still fresh. I very well could experience it next week, but there's no way to be sure; it's not constant, or at least I get used to it enough that I don't register it any longer. It just occasionally flares up for a while and then fades back. I don't really know what causes it, but it seems more manageable and less likely to flare up while I have other constructs created. Perhaps because they're physically or mentally replacing the ones that were killed?"

He shrugged before taking a brief analytical look at the girl. She really hadn't done anything in the fight. That either suggested she was supremely confident in Sparky's abilities, or she didn't grasp how dangerous other mages could be. Given she was working with Sparky in the first place, it was probably not the latter option. But it just didn't add up; why risk being around a short tempered living bomb while they were exploding at people if she didn't have some way to fight back? If she did have some way to fight back, why didn't she bother before the outcome of the fight was clear?

"What about you?" he asked suspiciously, body tensing slightly in preparation for an unexpected attack. "What's your party trick?"

For a split second, Tristan didn't understand what Diana meant. Sadly, that didn't last for very long, as the ache quickly amped up to worse that it had been when the constructs were first vaporized. He struggled to stay standing, his increasingly shaky legs threatening to give out from underneath him at any moment. Several of his more quickly made constructs in the area did collapse, though the rest simply stopped in place and stood motionless.

He didn't even realize what else she was doing until she asked what he could do with the results. He was so absorbed in trying to handle the sudden ain't that, at first, he thought she had been using the opportunity to set up more offensive applications of her abilities. As he looked at her, preparing to react defensively, he noticed he could discern details of her face more clearly than he otherwise should have been able to. A quick glance around made clear that she had also made the shadows around them deeper.

Biting his tongue, he created a construct from his shadow and gave it a few practice punches. Once satisfied with testing it's durability, he turned back to the other mage.

"The eyesight is neat, and messing with the shadows directly influences the quality of my constructs. Still, I don't know exactly what it is that you're doing. I blame the throbbing in my skull. If you could do something about the pain that you made worse, I could probably focus a bit more."

Tristan's connection with his constructs was largely one way. The pain he felt wasn't shared by his constructs, but his constructs' pain was shared by him. They weren't independent of him, though - they functioned only via his mental command. If he was so wracked with agony that he couldn't move, his constructs would lock up as well. As he adjusted to the pain, he got the fallen shadows back on their feet and considered what Diana said. Right up until she used her powers some more.

The breathing thing was immediately noticable, but difficult to describe. He could breath easier. It wasn't as though he had much difficulty breathing before, but it was still easier. The adjustment to the construct took a few seconds more to realize. They weren't exactly made perfectly; he often made them based on his own physical blueprint and in a rush. Their ankles were often always sore, and their backs were all sorts of screwed up. It wasn't more than a dull, constant ache, though. It didn't get much worse, but he was on edge and on the lookout for any more potentially aggressive moves.

As he became aware of the increased pain coming his way, he frowned at the construct and then at the girl. "Didn't I just ask you to stop the pain? I understand if you can't, but why the hell are to trying to make it worse?"

He was starting to think this exchange wasn't worth continuing. If she was just going to keep trying to hurt him more, he didn't stand to gain much in return. From what she'd said earlier, the Kingpin Kid probably wasn't going to go full despot. And it wasn't as though there was a shortage of things that needed doing. Tristan would probably still be coming back to Florence to make sure nothing was going horribly, but there was no reason to stick around right now. It probably wouldn't be long before she escalated to outright aggression, and that just sounded like a hassle.

"You know what, Pokey," he said through clenched teeth. Even if leaving was the smart choice, though, the chance to learn about his enemies was one that couldn't be passed up easily. He'd just have to see if there was a way to get the pain to stop stacking. "I appreciate the show and tell, and I hope I've been able to answer some questions for you as well. I think it may be best if we stop throwing powers around, though. I may not be able to take much more, to be honest, and none of my creations would make for an interesting conversation partner with me out of commission. So, for the sake of changing the conversation... What was your buddy actually wanting with the bigwigs, anyway? All I really got to see was a exploding wall before punches were being thrown."