[There's a moment while Stone struggles with the idea of sending along everything he's sensing, opening himself up that way, but after that moment it all just breaks loose.

Like a werewolf, he has the senses of a predator. Unlike a werewolf, he is over five hundred years old, and every year that passed made those senses more acute; he's been known to track a single person through a city of hundreds of thousands by scent, and his distance vision outpaces all of his own species (already known for being very far-sighted). The feed Laughs gets is, at first, a riotous jumble: of footsteps, fabric swishing, smells along a wide spectrum that he'd recognize from the theater but even stronger and more full of detail, and a slightly blurred and strangely off-kilter up-close view of the piano in question. Sight appears the only sense not particularly enhanced, but then, he's half-blind. That's probably not surprising. It's a mess, because Stone is focused on the network, not sorting his senses out.]

Are you getting it? I'm trying to send.