I'm not. [ That's easy to agree with, at least. ] But it doesn't change the fact that my blood seems to make the floor angry.

[ It sounds like a more accurate description than "it seems to break the floor" to him. The floor is living, and the blood is waking it up, and Teddy has been alone for a long, long while just watching it whenever he stops moving (even if he doesn't really compute it, seeming to be just fine standing or sitting in the same spot for hours on end, staring, doing nothing, not living).

What blood remained on Teddy's fingertips drips with another sizzle. The cloth Bigby had put on him darkens gradually, following the pace at which Teddy's wounds fucking throb. ]

I found a door. A new one. [ He frowns slightly as he says it. ] It's locked, but it has this machine next to it, and if you press this round thing on the machine, someone speaks to you.

Or at least I think it's a someone. They spoke backwards, but when you put it rightways it says "the word on their tongues will open passages".

[ He spares Bigby an upward glance. ] Do you know what that might mean?