[To be fair, there used to be more rooms. They just got burned up.

For a brief moment, Quentin's face falls when she laughs, a flicker of insecurity before he masks it with smarminess.]

Hey! If you're gonna be in my head, you have to be nice to me. That's the rules.

[He slumps into the second chair, and yes, he is wearing that pink housecoat. He's allowed to be comfortable in his own mind, okay? He gestures vaguely at the one window in the room, with its view of smoldering, burning figures that appear to be copies of Quentin.]

So yeah, there's my inner demons. Flambéed gray matter. Whole big chunk of my brain on fire for all eternity. Now we're even.