Part of him wants to tell Hisoka to stop talking. He doesn't really have the right to blather on about them - him, of all people. And part of him doesn't... mind. Doesn't mind that information, doesn't mind the vague flicker of hope that nags at him, now. It's not that he isn't "all right" with his losses - it's a dangerous profession, after all, and he'd played his requiem, held his mass. They'd laid the dead to rest, though they'd been denied the chance to do so in a more literal and dignified manner.

Even so. There's not one of them that he wouldn't welcome the chance to see again. It's strange, the way of mourning. The books he'd read had warned him of that kind of reaction - the drive for one more moment. He'd never really felt that way before, though - when something is dead, let it be. Say your goodbyes. Life moves on for the living, and everything is expendable.

"Hm." But a world like this. A power like that. How upsetting to his perspective. But he'll try not to think about it, at least not here. He's shown too much already. So he sighs, and glances off, toward the door. "...do you attend those ceremonies? The next one is on your day of release, isn't it?"

Definitely changing the subject.