"My apologies, madam," says Castor, managing both contrition and droll humor. "I try not to assume pronouns before I've met the person. Or the bird, as it were."

Persis sighs audibly.

"This is Persis," he adds.

"Yes, yes," says Persis. "Look, kid's right, let's set fire to something already. I ain't nocturnal enough for this shit."

"Can do," says Castor, and immediately casts about for something that'll burn easy. Everything here is abandoned, anything could be construed as waste if he stretches hard enough, but he's not here to dick around. He inches toward what he eventually discovers is a bin, after walking into it and nailing his shin. He sucks in a breath and lets out a low curse.

"All right," he says, rubbing at the bruised bone. "This is a shop, right? Someone needs to find some lighter fluid."