"So, what. You half-assed it for me since you're tired? S'kinda unfair."

Gen drawls out that petulant answer without hesitation, but unfortunately for him, there's a hard limit on how tough he can sound with the glamor still operating. What was meant as a sardonic retort ends up sounding much more like a bit of childish pouting, and Gen frowns as he realizes it.

"And how long does this stuff last?" He holds up his hand to look at it. It's small. Disorientingly so. Gen tries not to think about the mismatch between the physical feedback of the motion and the visuals of it when he flexes his fingers. "Was that also part of the conjuring?"

He's not doing a very subtle job of avoiding Emet-Selch's question for just a little longer.