"Hey. My handwriting's been printed on money." As if that proves Tidus wrong. But he still offers that opening regardless, a challenging quirk of his eyebrow thrown Tidus's way too. Besides that, Roland can't disagree with anything else the teen reacts to. He makes a sound, something akin to what-can-you-do-right? before he takes a gander at the clock face, checks his SCA for a few seconds, then peers back at the device again.

"It's quarter-past...dark red. I think." He shakes his head with only a hint of exasperation. "Yeah, go to anyone of them. Please. And let me know what they can decipher. Then we can call it a total victory against the train. And the pain in the A void." BAD WORD.

Roland leans back on the bed, his palms extended from behind until he can rest against the mattress a bit more relaxed. "It's around twenty-five points. As soon as we can master how to tell colored void time, we can ask for volunteers to buy a clock themselves. Put one in cars with a lot of foot traffic." He smiles, a hint of fondness, controlled but present. Still joking, a way to release a bit of that tension pooling in his shoulders.