"What am I talking about-- What are you talking about! No it wasn't anything in a park. Does this look like a park to you?!" There aren't even any geese or swans and no one has trimmed that hedge over there at any point in its exceptionally bushy life.

And now she is on him. Or, you know, not on him, but swarming up into his space with her face all flush with rage and accusatory pointing finger and remaining hard boiled egg.

"We are not allowed to share this Riftday. I don't care who you are. This one is mine, so you may as well just crawl right back where you came from." Wysteria, that's not how any of this works and you know it. You've had too much wine.