It's hard not to feel the frozen Ed-shaped elephant in the room for Oswald, slumping around at his back and leaving crunchy, wet footsteps around the kitchen. The phantom Ed-elephant also has a gun at Oswald's head, so there's that.

He's not sure where he wants to lean more, into the ironic amusement that This Ed doesn't know that he is the inspiration for the name, or sort of sad for exactly the same reason.

"Something like that, yes."

Paused in eating, Oswald's thumb worries the handle of his knife.

"And I say reopen, perhaps that's not entirely accurate. Not in the way you're thinking at least. Once, it had been The Sirens bar. Barbara Kean's place. Not that I need remind you of that."

He leans back into his chair, smiling across the table at Ed without much warmth.

"Still, one thing lead to another, and Barbara vacated the premises. It seemed a shame to let it settle into ruin. It's fine real estate."