"Lancashire," he supplies, looking down at his tea a little pensively while she's not sitting in front of him. "And that's not strictly what I meant."

Is he opening up to Miss Gallagher of all wretched people? Good grief, but that suddenly strikes him as disconcerting. He casts a furtive glance over in her direction, wondering what by means of trickery has she managed to coax such conversation out of him. Perhaps, a thought pops up in the back of his mind, it has to do with what happened in the mirror world. It is, after all, a little difficult to pretend they both didn't go through something rather traumatic together.

His eyes settle back on his tea. Forefinger tracing up and down the cup's handle. He tries very hard not to fidget when he's uneasy but it seems to happen of its own subtle accord.

"I was, in fact... murdered. Directly prior to winding up in Asgard."