[Haran seems as though he's already savoring their food when he purses and wets his lips subtly, lids low to watch Qetzi'ah sit and speak, then narrowed when it is Brandon's turn. The boy, unsurprisingly, amuses him, too ridiculous to really strike any injury even when one is attempted, so Haran's smile stretches and he dutifully reaches for his glass. Unfortunately any manners taught to him were only selectively learned, so he handles the thing as he finds it most convenient, not elegant, letting it sit back down to ask,]

Please, do tell us what it is that you know about family.

[An anecdote so wild in a house that's become the grave to almost every murdered Morrison, in the hands of their very own prodigy child.]

I should have a speech to go with this most precious toast.