[ The lights continue to make a trail like static yellow will o' wisps, lighting one section at a time. The underground station is actually quite large, perhaps intended to be more of a central stop than a mere way point in its day. The glows from the light -- always come on past Pitch, so that he never has to stand in front of it -- illuminate a surprising amount of attention to architecture and colour that has, in some spots, been wiped clear of dust and age. The fact that the lights work at all, even in this odd configuration, is proof enough that Pitch has been doing more down here than just inhabiting its shadows.

He makes an amused noise in the back of his throat when Jim finally speaks, glancing sidelong and down by several inches. ]

It is a sorry enough state down here without you stumbling around and knocking things over, yelling enough to shake the glass from its holdings.

[ One slim hand points upwards toward a pane of decorative glass high overhead though which dim moonlight filters. Of course that's only a small portion of his true reasoning here, though it's not a lie... it merely sounds better than telling the man that his presence bred fear from fear, and Pitch was enjoying it quite a lot. ]

And admirable intentions to locate your officer aside, you should not go rushing headlong into places where things hide.