Lydia's words strike a chord deep inside of him and he closes his eyes for a long moment as they wash over him. They'll love you and hate you in equal measure. As much as he likes to tell himself that he doesn't care what other people think, the idea of Henderson hating him hurts. But not as much as losing him or any of the others would have. He runs a tongue over his teeth and opens his eyes again, meeting Lydia's. "I hope he gets there sooner than later."

A grin appears and he shakes his head. "As much as I want to spend as much time with you as possible, your majesty, I don't do sports." He pauses. "But, maybe I'll keep you company if you get me drunk or high enough."

He nods knowingly. "I knew it," he says, his eyes twinkling a little. "You were one of the golden girls. I mean, look at you. And captain of the LaCrosse team!" He perches his chin on one hand in a gossipy posture. "Oh, my." But then he realizes what she's already told him and puts two and two together. He relaxes out of his teasing posture. "And then you got bit," he finishes, amusement washing away.

He hums at her explanation about others from his world possibly being there. He tries not to think too hard about who he'd want to see again, since the realization that he'll probably never see anyone again is hitting him. He wishes he'd been able to say goodbye to his uncle.

Lydia's concern after being on the run from a town ready to lynch him for murder feels like warm embrace. He feels himself relax slightly and drops his guard the tiniest bit. He takes the coke and rum and opens the can. "Thanks."

He takes a large swig of coke before he pours the rum in. "I was unjustly accused of murder," he says as he carefully pours the rum in. He laughs a little, though it still doesn't reach his eyes. "Can you imagine? The only person I've ever killed is myself."