[He looks up. The human is nearly always smiling, but Garrus can't blame November for letting the mask slip after the box. He can't even keep his main tones as casual as he'd like - they're weary and his subharmonics are low and muted.]

Twice. Twice now.

[Wringer has to do with laundry, right? And that gets wet. So it fits.

Garrus straightens, still surprised he's not dripping everywhere. Maybe it'd be easier if he knew how to stop failing. Learn to swim? What's that going to do when he's built the way he is?]

I get the... the premise. Drill you. Bang it through your skull that how you're doing something isn't the right way. But don't most instructors, or instruction programs, then tell you what's expected? How to fix where you're failing?

[There's a slightly higher edge to his subharmonics now. Garrus knows he'll be going in again and he wants an answer that he knows he's not going to get.]

I don't...

[He shakes his head. He's rarely this open, this honest, but he's too exhausted to put his emotional shielding back up. He's just died a third time - once to a bullet from Arbuckal, and twice from drowning. It doesn't get easier.]