He eats s little, slowly, still thinking about Random as a little boy. There's so much he wants to ask, but it's a week before Christmas and the lights are turned on on the tree downstairs and there's snow outside...maybe this is a time to keep things happy. But still, he wants to know. Some other time, he thinks to himself, when I can hold him and try to make it better.

He doesn't hold out hope that he can make that go away though. How would he?

There's a small sigh around the latest of the rather gorgeous omlette, then he holds a forkful out for Random. 'When I was that young? We were poor. Lived in a slum. I can remember hating that Hector was born, when I was four or so, and being very demanding with my mother and following my father around a lot.' He thinks. 'There were a lot of other kids around though, and my earliest memory is of trying to play football in the street outside and wishing I was Pele.'

Football was obviously a Thing. And with that in mind, his next question is, 'Do you like any sports?'