[ Well, that's...better? Is it a flashlight or something? It better not be a repurposed robot eyeball. Lulled by the man's chatter—always less eerie than the alternative—Jimmy peeks over the tops of the meticulously ordered bottles. ] How about to make sure we're on the same page, we state our reason for being here on the count of three. That way if I say “romantic interlude” and you say “axe murdering” or “soul harvesting” or “thought this was the bathroom”—actually that would be really unfortunate...

[ While his mouth's going, Jimmy creeps out into the open. He realizes his hands are up. He puts them down, and wheezes out a laugh. ] Hi. Hey. I don't have my watch thing but I'm with the group. Bona fide.