( Ben gives a short deprecating chuckle, and a sigh; not deprecating if anyone except, perhaps the bird. ) Believe me, I've tried to teach Peter all sorts of desperately pertinent manners. ( Peter is terrible about most of them. especially personal space.

as one might have noticed.

Ben looks Crowley over, quizzically more than anything, under the given bit about his prior sleeping habits. take no offense, humans can't help being a little judgmental, and Ben is auto-filling it in with the assumption that Crowley seems like a 'party person.' he can imagine Crowley is the sort to have a previous record of passing out in gardens, and wherever else.

it's those flashy pointed shoes, and the odd glasses. rebellious sort of person, Ben imagines.

fussing with his handle on the bird, Ben shrugs. ) Relatively; nearly a month, I think. ( he finally tucks the bird in one curled up arm, to free his other hand for the empty basket, which means...no free hand to recollect berries with. damn it, Peter, if you could just behave in public for all of five minutes...! )

I regret to say, welcome to Deerington. It's rather bonkers here. How long have you been here? ( in town, or just in someone's blueberry farm, whatever you'd like, really. )