Spring. It's plainly entering autumn, now, by the leaves that crunch underfoot. That's... interesting, and concerning, and a great deal to think about. He has been informed that this place is a dream, and that individuals can be trapped here for years at a time while their world carries on as usual. But it is impossibly disconcerting to find such a thing actually happening to him.

His eyebrows raise, and he looks to Oscar, surprised and nearly amused.

"I do hope there was a good reason behind stealing 'a couple of trucks.'" He can't claim to disapprove too strongly; he'd been distantly aware of the Atlas airship plan up until the spiking adrenaline and impending death made him acutely aware. He's done worse in a hundred lifetimes. Still, it's not ideal.

But they've arrived at a little cafe, warm and cozy in the darkening twilight. He can only imagine this is their cocoa spot, and stops to take in the sight while Oscar deals with his bicycle, standing with his hands folded over the top of his cane.

"I imagine our friends will be waiting outside?" He turns to look at the small army of jackalopes, which only stare back at him.