"Hello Greta. Elizabeth," I say with a smile, holding back a grin when snacks are brought up. She isn't the first to try and seek favor with Greta and she won't be the last. (Crowley, Simon's the worst of them all and he's grown.) "That's nice, Elizabeth, taking an interest in food organization." I look at the shelves, pretending to ponder them.

"We should have a snack to celebrate the hard work Greta's done. How about...eyeball soup? Or snake tongue crackers?" I ask, picking up a few non-descript boxes and giving them a shake.