Feeling tired, Lloyd lays his head down in a gaggle of bras and closes his eyes.
Lloyd: Now I could be anywhere, in bed. I wish I could wake up. I can't look anymore. God it's a gorgeous view, but far too terrifying. Some perspectives are meant to be set aside only for those who choose them. I could understand if I were a mouse, but come on it's a different level of consciousness.
Lloyd's mother, Lady Brentridge de Modena Chank, appears in an impressive burst of optics.
Lady Brentridge: Son why did you take my name.
Lloyd: Because you have a title, and dad was a... where are you?
Lady Brentridge: I've been waiting all this time for you to reach a certain altitude else I cannot get through the Filter of Loathing.
Lloyd: So the dead can... Mother?
Lady Brentridge: Yes, love.
Lloyd: Can you save me?
Lady Brentridge: No, darling.
Lady Brentridge: Don't speak. You've got to act fast. As soon as you wake up from this nap, fashion a weapon from the wood in the nest. Look for maybe some scrap metal for a blade. You'll have the element of surprise when she gets back. Good luck, my little lord.
Oh, and uh, by the way I just wanted you to know that while my intention always was to guide and protect, and to do that with my heart full of love, at the same time, however, I was paying so much attention to my role that, well, I recognize that during some moments I neglected to respond to the nitty-gritty contents of your life in a lucid or humane manner.
Now when you're ready, go for the eyes first.