Terry glared at the nickname Michael seemed intent on calling him, but didn't have the energy to argue about it at the moment. Sitting down at the table, Terry rested his chin on his hand and sighed, "Well, okay. I suppose this makes up for you barging in. Sort of."
He got up and grabbed a butter knife from one of the kitchen drawers, then returned to the table. "What's new?" he questioned, opening the jar of jam and spreading some on a crumpet. "Nothing much, really. Well, nothing I haven't already told you, anyway."
At the mention of the displaced, Terry looked over at Michael in interest. "Do you know if any progress has been made on stopping people from displacing?" He wondered what would happen if he or Michael would ever displace.