“Oh, God,” Zechariah sighed, putting his head in his hands. “I had bought fish-themed silverware and everything.”

Zechariah raised his gaze back to Elijah, straightening his posture once more. He took another sip of his drink, though the sip seemed rather long with rather less liquid left for a ‘sip’.

“It … falls to us, Elijah. It falls to us to repair the world.”

He finished off his glass and settled back into his seat.

“Or at least leave the world with less cracks than we came into it with.”