He lets that first question hang in the air, too fraught with thoughts of those who've had thoughts of leaving town, have left town, and have left this place altogether. There's a conversation to be had there at some point, help to be recruited on wider efforts to retreat beyond the town's boundaries, but for now the only useful thing to mention out there is the nothingness beyond. And Stephen would rather start with politics than the endless nothing keeping them penned in here on the abattoir floor.

But he does work to answer most as diligently as he can. Softening things only when the topic's one he doesn't want to touch, or when it's something he determines is better handled with food and drink and a table between them. And when they make it to the tavern, he ushers Tony to a table and returns from the bar with two full cups and two empty plates— the perks of having assisted the owner in even less stable times.

Onto these plates swiftly appear a small selection of local snacks.

"Fresh this morning."

He would not know, he did not make them.