Solomon has made note of Teagan's pregnancy, but he isn't one of those men made uncomfortable by such a thing. It's as natural a condition as breathing, though maybe less unclouded in this world than it once was. He follows her inside, tall enough that his stand-up hair isn't far from the ceiling, but it's a familiar space and he looks at ease in it. "I'll hang around a little while, but it's nothing urgent," he says. Jo is simply someone who Sol's busy mind can tango with, hers as sharp as anyone's.
"I knew Virgil," he agrees, nodding, bringing a spindly-legged chair around to sit on it backwards, arms folded over the back. "My sister and I were here often. Dinner parties," he adds, with an almost whimsical smile. It seems like an extravagance in these days, but they'd eaten spaghetti and whatever wine he could bring and told stories into the night and nothing since felt quite so much like real life to him. "How did you meet Jo?" His eyes cast over the papers, and though he doesn't mean to be intrusive, he is always curious. "Are you looking for something?"