Jon remains blissfully unaware of how close he is to getting a glass of whiskey dumped over his head. He takes it with a grimace.

"Deerington." A month earlier, he might have described the place as... erratic, but tolerable. By this point, he can no longer manage that. "This place is a dream, supposedly. The nightmare of... a very powerful being."

The nightmare of a sleeping god. Of a tortured little girl.

"The town changes every month. This month, it's... pink blood, killer robots, and... executions."

Said on a sigh, because it's the only way he'll get it out. He is not looking at Tim. He drinks his whiskey.