"Thermal underwear comes under the Temple's standard dress-code, does it?" Solomon wondered out loud. "Fancy that. Maybe I should have paid more attention to the uniform rules after all." His tone was bantering, sardonic. Some rules, like that, were ridiculous. People in comfort worked better. There was no point to meaningless self-flagellation, and after his upbringing, Solomon had never had any intention of giving in to such an idea.

Even now, after a return to his upbringing, he wouldn't. God, he knew now, was much more intelligent than to go around worrying over someone wearing the wrong clothes to dinner. Really. Who seriously thought He would care about that when He had a whole universe to run? Or enjoy watching teeter on the rails, as the case may be?

"I suppose I'm not dead because I'm not," he said, and his lips quirked whimsically. The relief hadn't left, but the tiredness was beginning to sink in again and it showed in his voice--though it didn't take away the amused edge. "Funnily enough, Vandameer, blindness is not mutually inclusive with death, comas or catatonia. Where have you been getting your medical knowledge from?"