[Rarely does anyone ever seem to speak with their foot out of their mouth around Bigby. At this point, he's used to it — the weird looks, the snide comments, the I'm-totally-going-to-do-this-thing-you-hate-even-though-you're-right-there gestures, everything. Still doesn't mean he likes it, though. He sneaks another blunt look at Sarah, that frown pressed so hard you'd think he was trying to will her mouth to do the same, but it passes pretty quickly when they move on to the matter at hand.

That's another thing about Bigby: his anger burns bright and simmers low, but it's pretty quick to pass unless it's really warranted.]

And then there's the one about wishing in one hand, shitting in the other, and seeing which one fills up first. [Which is just... gross, the light grimace on his face states, but that doesn't make it any less true.] Even if the Emperor isn't lying, they're going to have a hard time making good on all their promises.

[Hell, he'd be surprised if they even fulfilled one. Despite appearances, they're not all-powerful. That revelation about the wolves (if you could even call it that) proved that much.

Speaking of—

Bigby's eyes go up the list, and when they find the small paragraph designating his own questions, they stop and pensively settle for a moment. His thumb skims along the paper, over the words "war" — "What makes yours so important?" — and "home" — "So why don't you find them a different home? That's what my people did when our worlds fell." — smudging the ink as it goes.]

You heard all that, huh?

[Rhetorical question, but still.]