Uriah peeks around the door frame, almost guiltily. There's a long moment where he doesn't say anything. He doesn't have any flowers of chocolates, and he definitely doesn't have anything reassuring to say. Still, he has to say something.

"Masks fuckin' suck, huh?" he drawls. "First the photopiano goes screwy, now you're off—like, whatever happened. Some real bullshit. Masks."