["His girl," huh? Nero tips his head, giving that a thought. Guessing he doesn't mean in a romantic sense. Not after the memories he saw. Funny, because while Wanda wasn't critical in her description, it wasn't exactly flowery with flattery, either.

He won't tell Sam about it. Don't wanna hurt his feelings.]

So, chatty with the right guy. Got it.

[Actually, he's getting the idea most of the chatting is done by this guy. Sam. And he just -- keeps going. Nero's not exactly got a poker face, so Sam's don't underestimate religious communities comment, said to a guy raised by a demon-worshipping cult, gets something between a choked snort during his next sip as he chokes on it, followed by a vicious urge to break something.

But he's not being an asshole. He's. Really crushing it. Nailign it. The glass of the soda bottle begins cracking, but at least it hasn't broken in his hand.]

I'll stop you there. You don't have to tell me twice. [Has to wonder if Sam's world also had half a country blown up by a religion-powered giant, shitty statue. For some reason, he doubts it.] Unless their gods are gonna come outta the woodwork, though, they don't have the numbers. Not that I'm edging for a war, either.

[It would give him something to do, sure, but he -- he's not here to kill people. And the place, so far, is radically free of demons. He's becoming a glorified farmhand now.]

Is that why you're holding this? People on your end wanting a fight?