[ So many new arrivals. It becomes exhausting to tend them all, especially in the hopes that he would find someone in their number that he knows.

Emet-Selch has resigned to sitting in a mess of vines that roughly equal the shape of a chair as he waits for the next one. This unfamiliar person sits up and immediately has colorful words to share with the room at large.

He tiredly rolls his head in their direction. There is no attempt to move from his slouched place and see to the new arrival and their frantic commentary. Instead, he asks a question of his own. ]

Difficult time sleeping, I take it?