"Sorry," he said as he dragged Oliver out into a hall, then released him. "We're not used to visitors. Especially people just, uh, showing up like that, you know?"

He brushed his hair back over his head with his hand. Nathan leaned against one of the walls, painted a dark, blood red. The hall itself was dimly lit, no windows of any sort. Just sort of gloomy and, well, dark.

"I'll introduce you to them once they forget you just appeared in the living room. It'll take like. Five minutes. Murderface is probably playing Wheelchair Bound already and I don't think Skwisgaar even fucking cared so much as he wanted to see if he could scold me."