You are still able to distance yourself from the feeling, gradually recognizing it to be happening without any input from yourself or your surroundings, and as you force yourself to engage in this utterly asinine (wait, why are you calling it asinine?) exchange of words with a stranger, a clipped voice breaks through the barrier of your mind.
Yia ere wakind kina.
It sounds... disappointed. What business did this disembodied fellow have sounding so cross? Your temper rises.
You are wasting time.
Ah, there it was. The words morphed into something you could understand, and now you're even more agitated because of it.
Ir... kirhakal yia cialk wirk togedrir. Fira. Fira, mabe drial wa... mabe drial wa.
Its tone is softer now.
Or... perhaps you could work together. Yes. Yes, maybe this way... maybe this way.
The voice fades, extricating itself from the confines of your now-aching head as you realize the sheer volume of space it had occupied.
Exchange your pleasantries, but do not give up the hunt.