Oh, yeah? In that case maybe I should make myself at home. [She's joking mostly, but perhaps not entirely. Faith wonders what it would have been like to have a mother who paid even the slightest amount of attention. Who cooked. Who enjoyed guests.

She moves to sit across from him at the table. Considering the man with and what the dream has shown her.] Puberty must have hit you like a mac truck or something, shit. [He'd gotten stacked in comparison to the scrawny child who'd needed protection.]