[Putter-putter. A startlingly good sculpture of headless-Ilsa forms. He's caught the cant of her shoulders, the weight of her breasts, the strength of her waist... It's clear he's an artist, among his other abilities.]

[He looks at the little candy skull, and twitches, slighly, then grimaces.]

"Eat flaming death"? [dry chuckle] That's a term I've heard since coming here. It kind of fits my world's fire, flame, lighting and storm cursing.

So, date or no date, this is about...thin walls, scary other worlds, and spirits misplaced?

Sounds like us. Sounds like Mayfield.