"What?"
Whoops. Just slipped out. But still? Crowley dead? They'd just had barbecue. Talked about skating. Fingers dug into the stack of robes and eyes slowly closed. That's right, Alfred. The fever. The rage. The desire to yell at/to Avis that they should have just burned down that Abyss-damned frat house the first night they'd found it instead of... Just, instead of.
"Sorry."
Vague impressions of words fell like rain drops on a fire until flames had ficker-died to ember and cinder. Athanaeum? That's a weird question, yo. Given, you know, how Secret Squirrel the Mysterium is. Lips parted to deliver a response scathing enough to come from his other half; fueled by a death and a memory of a Curator, but he fed them to the rain.
"Uh. Well. There was also a Blinded running around? We put the kibosh on that silliness, just, like, wanted to mention that. That we got some rando wacks out there. Not just, you know. Banishers and Seers and, uh. Spirits. And portal things. Anyway. Yeah. That's all."