Mimsy trotted back to Kevin, flopping on his feet. She was tired and ready to go home now. There would be food and her bed and she could go bother Other!Not!Daddy while Daddy took a shower.

Kevin turned at the sound of his name. Then, his shoulders bunched and he yanked his gloves on almost violently. His face hid behind the long hair he'd just been shoving out of his face a moment ago.

Then, he took a deep breath and did the psychic exercises he remembered from the institute. No. No one else was getting into his brain. Not here, not anywhere.

"Beggin' ya pardon, sir, but ya don't know what ya talkin' 'bout." His shoulders were so tight, he could barely breathe. "If'n y'all will excuse us, I gotta get t'work. It was right nice meetin' ya sir. C'mon Mimsy."

Southern politeness at its passive aggressive finest.