[ He considers his options for a moment, peeking out from the couch and his nest of blankets like a child hopeful for ice cream. (Though, given he's more or less been starving himself the past few days, he'd probably be better off with celery.

But do you know who likes celery?

No one. It's a mistake of a vegetable.) ]

I could do it, if you wanted.

[ Because that's precisely not interfering, of course. ]

Killjoys have to talk to rich bastards all of the time. Warrant is all. If he picks up and tells me to screw off, we know he's alive, right?