Quizzical silence. Janus' cheek twitches slightly, eyes crinkling. A hint of laughter. With Bastion, not at him. It's true, of course. There should be clitoral or vaginal and a diverse range of genital-shaped desserts. 'Vagina or bust.' "Advocating for equality," they observe. "The championship that the multiverse deserves." They manage not to wince at the zeal behind Bastion's next chomp.

They shake Bastion's hand. There are calluses inside their palm. If Bastion's met people who wield weapons, he'll recognize that as a sure sign— Janus has wielded a lot of them over the course of their life, long enough to have worn the shape into their hands.

"If you're running the risk of some kind of carbohydrate-related carnivore indigestion," this is not actually the weirdest sentence Janus has ever said, ok, "you might as well let a stranger buy you a beer."