"..." Well shit that's ominous. Very ominous. What didn't he remmeber from being nine? He'd liked Delta, he'd kept him safe, told him stories, helped him keep away from the scary shit in the forest. He'd been happy to help, he'd said, and even now he remembers the crisp little voice and almost birdlike tilt of his head when he spoke.

It'd been nice.

Now, though, he wonders. He worries.

"Basically you're telling me shit is gonna go down by the punchbowl when Gran gets a good look at me." That'll be fun.