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"Jesus Christ," someone said. "Can it walk? It's like a bag of Jello with an eyepatch."

The someone had come around the corner just in time to witness the words "walkies" and "Killer" in close conjunction, which was already novel, but seeing the name ascribed to the thing Jordan was holding just about sealed it for Taym, who was already in a somewhat off-kilter state of mind after prolonged exposure to too many Cannon Cats. Possibly one Cannon Cat was too many. Ninety-nine definitely were. He had a shell-shocked look about him. He had shed the jumpsuit and gone back to scrape out a few cages and consider the series of bad decisions that had led to this point in his life when Jordan arrived.

He stopped. He gave Jordan a sideways stare and then diverted his gaze, tapping absently on a tank in a futile attempt to stir up whatever was inside so he'd have some excuse not to look at him. He was not coping entirely well with assimilating what had happened in the Tear, and he'd learned to recognize the vague stirrings of familiarity for what they were. Any second now, he'd remember. Maybe Jordan would too, despite the beard, and then there'd be that.

"Taym," he said, but it wasn't really a correction, more of a long-overdue footnote. His insistent tapping apparently managed to have some effect, because he yanked his hand back suddenly like whatever was in the tank could bite through glass.

He hazarded a second glance up and he held it this time, a leery, hackles-raised stare. Not that far off from how he'd looked there, really. Just less exhausted, more restless. "Obadiah Thompson, actually. Still trying to get used to the whole introductions-to-strangers-you've-met-before thing."

"Nothing that looks like that is friendly," was Taym's skeptical answer. Jordan's smile went unreturned. "I don't blame it for being pissed off, anyway, some jackass puts it in a box and then another jackass goes and bangs on the glass while it's trying to... sleep." He didn't sound too sure about that verb.

He paused, dropped his eyes again, clearly hovering on the edge of saying something else, and ran his fingers back and forth over the front of the tank to tempt the thing into chasing them. Whatever he'd been about to say, he didn't. Instead, he said: "I don't know if I trust the judgment of someone who calls that thing 'Killer,' unless there's something I don't know. Which, granted, is always a likely ******** event."

He grinned, but didn't look up. Taym apparently had two modes: full-on stare and determined eye-avoidance. "Lean? I can humor the rest of it, but lean..." He snorted, and made a vague movement of his hand to indicate the tentacle treat. "Do they all have names? I'd think that'd be frowned on, given... the circumstances." But Molly'd managed to come up with ninety-nine of them, at least.

Things Taym wished he could say: I miss my dog and how does anyone live without a cat around and jesus christ it's lonely out here. Not to Jordan, though. Never to someone like Jordan. Never, actually, to almost anyone.

"If the best they can offer is 'try not to kill them' I'll try to avoid getting attached. Won't be hard if they all look like this a*****e," he added, and he apparently felt compelled to clarify with a jerk of his hand that he meant the thing in front of him, not Killer.

He hesitated again, and this time came out with it, suddenly: "I guess you were right after all," he said, half-bitter, half-apologetic. "Told you not to listen to me."

"I don't know about that. Maybe it applied then but I don't--" he said, but he suddenly bit off the rest of whatever he'd been about to say, swallowing. A split second to compose himself, and then: "Anyway. Belated thanks for your help, I guess. Sorry I didn't say it then. I was too busy trying to sort out my thoughts. He was trying to sort out his thoughts. I don't actually know what the pronoun is," he said, barking a laugh that didn't seem particularly amused. "Feels like it happened to someone else. Not literally," he added. "Since that needs clarifying, judging from the number of people who've lost their ******** minds, apparently."

He grinned again, again directing it at the tank instead of at Jordan. "I don't know if I ought to be relieved or disappointed I came back without any major delusions. Some ******** Miller. "Some ******** people" was about to lead in to a thought about Rep and then Jordan's name came up and slotted into place. It had just been a passing reference but context ensured it was unlikely to be effaced from his memories any time soon. The grin shut down instantly.

"Well, I guess you ******** know," he said, abruptly tense. All the goodwill had drained out of his voice.