Whether desired or not, time, and the globe upon which they were mere specks, continued onwards, endless and without pause. Constants that, when contrasted with his current state, could help keep any struggling man grounded in reality. Not that he welcomed being evicted in such a manner, push down and conquered so that an accident-made creature could influence the same environs that they shared.
In fact, speaking of their surroundings, it's hard not to notice the bronze-skinned stranger's latest approach, the same figure that it had set its fangs upon. That it still flashed its venom laced dentition at, even now, though the effort was considerably. No matter what was thrown their way though, still the familiar being settled next to them, watching over and attending to... that which now struggled to raise its own head for more than a few seconds, drained of energy and not quite up to annunciating well.
Fortunately for the Spider, and for the bits of Miguel's conscience beginning to poke through, the incident appeared to be downgraded considerably, given the unofficial status of 'water under the bridge', had the saying been remembered in time. All the same, with his alertness, and overall presence in the moment increasing, it isn't long before Miguel, not the Spider so much, is leveraging himself into an upright, seated position, coincidentally timed in such a fashion that he managed to sit upright before DJ returned with a bowl of...
It rises like a clap of thunder, loud and deafening inside the cavity situated between his ears. If he had any brains left to speak of, then the proper course of action was to walk away, disengage, hide, as he rode out the worst of the Spider's influence, and not--
Before either of them has the chance to process this unfolding scene, the Spider, not Miguel, is seen reaching for the bowl and begins to pour it all directly down the hatch without stopping. Often to the point where the Spider leverages open Miguel's jaw further than humanly possible, so that ever last drop is claimed. The ask to signal when, as well as reminder to not rush, are inevitably ignored, set aside by a head that, little by little, with further sustenance consumed, did not buzz so red-hot and angry any longer.
That, aside from the iron-like vice grip on its empty bowl, and a dull red sheen visible in its eyes that Djahima was brought face to face with a form resembling Miguel, at least in name.
It will require the use of his voice to confirm that he was back in the helm of his own thoughts and body.
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