There's a lot of emotions which lie beneath the reaver's skin, feelings that he can't quite name or sort into metaphorical boxes. They were all intertwined, spectral strings which wrap and coil within the chasms of what he cannot see. Contrary to his eyes which often flicker like candlelight, his eyes are unable to burn through the illusion of reality. He doesn't know the instinctual feelings which bubble and boil. Perhaps one of his reasons for being so bitter around Linux was because of her fascination for technology, something that came from the realm of humans. Anything that reminds him of the past made him...sad. Any other word he can think of is perhaps just a poetic decoration of the feeling. Sadness. There was a tone, an aura, that radiates from the word itself. The meaning of the word is often lost but it's only when one begins to appreciate its nature for itself that one can realise the word's humble strength.

It bothers him humans even exist in this world. After all, only the opposable hands of homo sapiens would be capable of manipulating such intricate and tiny fragments into a piece of technology. Music. This little girl loved her music and Bakugou is reminded again of the sonorous boom of drums, how it felt to play and allow the reverberations shake along his bones which smashed against the cylindrical shapes. She wouldn't ever understand, he doubts she's even capable of registering how Bakugou felt. No one really quite understood the reaver. He's still unsure if he wants them to. "Where'd ya find that?" he asks in a nonchalant manner, though is genuinely intrigued by how the child always manages to find items still intact. Most human items he finds are broken or barely alive.