The boy most certainly did not get the clue. Unable to hold still for any amount of time even when he wasnāt excited, Patrick began talking at record speed, gesturing wildly and bounding around the room. Not once taking his eyes off his father. Which meant of course he was running into the furniture and walking right over whatever happened to be on the floor, regardless of what it was.
Patrick didnāt even bother giving Atlas a clue. Simply began talking.
"So I went intā oneāa Mr. Fontaineās labs today anā there was a tank fullāa like⦠yellow stuff anā when no one was lookinā I went and looked in it anā ya know what was in there? Do ya!? It was a person. They had people in the yellow stuff anā then I started pokinā around ācause Iām sneaky anā no one ever sees me anā I found a Big Daddy helmet but it didnāt have a Big Daddy inside it was jusā thā helmet anā why do ya think they had a Big Daddy helmet layinā around when thereās men in yellow stuff? Do ya think the men can breath in there?"
He really should have Pat-proofed the room, but at least there's nothing truly dangerous on the floor. There could have been bombs or needles or all sorts of things that he's still not sure how Patrick's avoided running into so far.
"What in God's name were you doin' at Fontaine's?" It's about the only thing he's managed to follow in this conversation, but he's having trouble moving past that. He scrambles over to grab his son and pick him up, before he breaks something. And Pat gets a look of fatherly concern. "Pat, y'can't go runnin' off if you're gonna be hangin' around there. That's Ryan's turf. Y'understand? I- whatever y'found there, people, big daddies, whatever it was, y'ain't goin' there again. Can ye promise me that?"