The stained glass window was sort of pretty, and very ornate given its size. Given how Fisk was cursing about it, though, Ford didn't think he'd much appreciate a compliment on the subject. He clearly hadn't intended to conjure a stained glass window (though really, that made it all the more impressive that it was so perfectly scaled and beautifully colored).

"Well, it's got to sort it self out eventually, doesn't it?" he asked anxiously. If it was something the Ministry (big M, Ministry, as opposed to the people in this room) had done, they would either reverse it or sort out the kinks sooner or later. They were probably aware of the problem, or they would be sooner or later — he didn't imagine that they'd leave a room full of employees to just languish and starve to death, or anything. If they were stuck here long term, maybe one of them would have the courtesy to stick around as a ghost after they died, so they could just float through the wall and alert others to their predicament — but it probably wouldn't come to that, because surely someone would notice if they all didn't come back to their desks for the afternoon. Certainly by Monday morning. At any rate, Ford was less concerned with the chances that they might be stuck here forever and more concerned by how agitated Dorian Fisk seemed to be about the whole thing. With the swearing, and the hasty spells, and his body language — it was all sort of frantic, and it was making Ford feel frantic too just due to proximity.

"It's not the end of the world if I'm stuck here another twenty minutes," he said, a sort of olive branch. It was true, too; he had no pressing work to attend to and hadn't even been planning to finish his lunch break until Dorian Fisk had walked in. "So — well, no need to get worked up for my sake," he concluded, cheeks flushing again. "I can wait it out."