[For his part, Bigby seems pretty heedless to the branches they're walking through, though he does hiss his protest when the sharper end of one scrapes the side of an arm when he goes to push another out of Ruth's way.]

Yeah, gotta say, the welcome wagon is kind of a surprise. I was expecting a little less hospitality and a lot more disorder.

[Granted, he hasn't met everyone yet, and there's no way to tell how long they've been here unless he asks — that means there's plenty of time to be proven wrong. Still, it's nice not to be just for now, just for once.]

Are they used to your, uh— powers? That thing you did back there with my head, it was a little... sudden. Not painful, just... not what I was expecting.

[Putting it goddamn mildly. He looks over at her as he says this, notices the dried blood crusting over under her nose. The deja vu that hits him looking at it is immediate and fierce, making him think of interrogation rooms with long wall-length panes of one-way glass, of cameras recording his every word in dark, smoking corners, of the look on a woman's face (Brannigan, a memory somewhere in his fogged out mind whispers, her name was Detective Brannigan, remember?) as she raises her hand to her bloody nose. What did he say to her, back then? Was it something like—]

Your nose is bleeding.

[Frank and flat to a tee.]