[The hands ignore him, continuing to skitter bottles around and Maes watches them with a growing sense of unease. He doesn't like these disembodied hands and it isn't because they are unhelpful. It probably has more to do with the fact that they seem to disappear at the drop of a hat or, in this case, the shuffling of approaching feet. Maes looks up, tilting his head up, and a little baffled that someone can be taller than an Armstrong. When he looks back to ask for another bottle, the hands are gone. Maes huffs and removes his glasses, rubbing at his face.]

Would. But they seem to have gone again. Didn't realize I could lose my mind in the afterlife too.

[He lowers his hand, looking up his new company.]

Guess I can take company instead.