[In this rare instance Pratt hadn't even been the instigator! But that's beside the point and he doesn't really want to dwell on the 'before times'. He's not that person anymore. He's barely a Deputy now, no matter what his uniform proclaims.

That's for later self reflection; right now is the time for mashed potatoes. He sits across from Sharky with a full plate of everything in the buffet that isn't meat - he never wants to see meat chunks ever again. He also filled one of the fountain soda cups with more coffee than the human heart should be exposed to.

This is the best day he's had in a while. Granted the bar for good days for Pratt is buried twenty miles deep in the ground, but still.]

Okay. Alright, explain the monkey paw shit. We can't die? Or we can but we come back?

[Holy shit he has not had real food in months and this is fucking fantastic. Everything is salty and greasy and covered in butter and he's absolutely in heaven.]

And the food stays? Damn. Who the fuck cares if we die then.