His scars are reassuring. She's used to them: on the War Boys, on the women taken in from the Wasteland or traded in, on the imperators. On the old men who rule everything. Even Corpus has his scars. So many people here lack them. She longs for peace, does Splendid, but she finds the physical state of it unfamiliar.

"Yeah? I don't know, I think you should see some of the things we have, back home."

The heads of baby dolls, Bull. And spikes. Lots of both. And skulls.

"That one," and she points with an elegant finger towards the smaller one, with ochre-coloured spots. "Reminds me of one of my sisters."

Toast she's sure would be flattered. Small and spiky and a permanent side-eye.