Bigby was more prone to bouts of melancholy than he would ever let on, and he was content to let most assume it was simply grumpiness. Everything had been coming to a head, years of loneliness, centuries of loneliness. Now, this. The universe really liked to deal him a fucked up hand, Bigby thought to himself with some self-pitying. He sighed and took a gulp of the whiskey, finishing off the short glass.

He immediately began berating himself. Here she was talking about kids dying and all these other people suffering, and Bigby was thinking only of himself. He gave a small snort through his nose and shook his head. "I'll be right behind you on that. Save a good spot on his face for me, pup."