"Oh, save it," Barrow snarls, and jerks to his feet, beginning to pace-- away from Mobius, first, his hands shaking as a sudden burst of rage courses through him. He's never been an angry person, is the sort who requires a great deal of prodding to reach a breaking point, and the part of his mind that isn't dominated by lyrium obsession is shocked by how quickly he's rocketing toward one.

"Fucking save the speeches, mate," he growls, back turned, and thuds a hand against the wall in a loose fist. A moment later, his forehead presses on it, and he tenses his shoulders as though it'll stop the tremors.

"Help me or get out. Tell that smarmy shit out there he was wrong and it's time to end it."