"No lunch-pail trees, then?" Glitch asked and crouched beside his friend, folding his arms to rest on his knees. The left bore evidence of the year-old tram station explosion incident, the tail end of a scar peeking out from the sleeve plus other fainter scratches, and the right...well. His fear of open flame was well-founded thanks to the Sorceress' hospitality.

Old news, forgotten and irrelevant. There were more pressing matters.

"But yeah, I'll help. What are the reasonable choices?"