Wicked was an apt name, too apt. He couldn't get the image of those ghost things out of his head and he really wanted to ask but maybe that wasn't such a good idea. Maybe he should get them fed and get the girl some liquor before he criticized her strange choice of friends in conversation. He went behind the bar and made something quickly for Wicked and then gestured for the pair to follow him into the kitchen where he raided the pantry (he and it were well acquainted by now) for the promised box of poptarts that he then tossed to the kid. That settled he took a seat at the table in the breakfast nook and waited for them to join him. "So..." he began, idly, and pulled a notebook from his pants pocket. "Whats your story, kids?"