"Won't be the French you'll want to look out for," he muses grimly, and not without effect. In Prior's world, and especially in his own mind — where he surely must be, surely — there's no ignoring that particular beast. Where unknown, there place monsters, Billy recalled, his head shaking slightly in response to his own thoughts. The sheer frustration he feels because everyone so conveniently ignored the known monsters in their midst for so long has yet to sift through, and what lingers irritates like thorns in his socks. But thorns, at least, and not something so much worse.

Who has time to imagine monsters, anyway?

Instead, he imagines for maybe just one moment that he's not at war with everyone and some of that aura of displeasure is allowed to fall away. "You don't happen to have a cigarette, do you?" Woodbines, Lucky Strikes, it's all the same, he thinks (until he has room to choose, of course). "I've gone without plenty, but there's certainly no signs of famine here..." His eyes cast around a wary glance. He could probably roll up the sidewalks and smoke them if this really is Wonderland.