"I never had it, but I'm fairly sure ramen existed before the Golden Age," Lodi nods, chopsticks unsteady in his hand. "I should cook for you sometime. What… food… still exists?" The Guardian leans in to answer, but Ghost pipes up, "Oh, good! Saint is here!" Lodi quickly stands up from the counter to greet him. He has heard so much. "Mr. Saint, a pleasure to meet you." He glances to the Guardian for an introduction, but is only met with a parting wave and a wiggle from Ghost as they walk away. The Titan crushes his fingers in an enthusiastic handshake, a box in his other wide palm. "Emissary! The pleasure is all mine!" Lodi freezes. He knows that accent from a thousand tapped phonelines and from behind a dozen two-way mirrors. He forces his face still. Wills his pulse to quiet. "Where are you from?" Lodi says in cautious Russian. "Ah! Finally!" Saint barks the same language in fluent staccato. "At last, someone to talk to!" And without warning, Lodi's hand is crushed in a second enthusiastic handshake. "Where are my manners? Here, a housewarming gift." Buzzing with nerves, the Emissary opens the package. He blinks; sparkling before him is a matching set of tasteful champagne flutes, the most timeless of housewarming gifts The fuel for his fears had been extinguished for centuries. His enemy is an apocalypse away. Lodi holds the box close. He looks at Saint directly. "This was a thoughtful gift. Thank you for your hospitality." His Russian flows easier this time, like an old friend. "You are most welcome!" He pauses, looking him over, and adds, "Are you all right?" Lodi's stomach flips over. He hunts for the right phrase and finds it arrive, gently, in his mind, "In my time, our people were… in conflict." Saint barks a laugh and swings a leg over a chair. "Who won?" The earnestness of the question is so absurd that Lodi shrugs, feeling gravity lighten on his shoulders. "No idea," he smiles.