Disappearing for a moment, Tay returns with two very neatly wrapped parcels and a foodstuff giftbasket. He hands the presents over and gives the girls a sharp-beaked smile.

"Merry whatever~"

He eagerly waits for them to open their presents. Lulu's is a flashy cocktail dress, which looks like its price tag might've been in the 300s, and Lutarna's is a cakebox -- which has a large gourmet blueberry tart inside. It’s fresh, so it must've been purchased very recently, and the cakebox printing implies that it was made on the surface.  

"The basket of goods is for your family to share. Oh, and I put Sabi's gift in there too. He doesn't know you, Lutarna, but he got something for Lulu. I have no idea what it is.”

“I’m glad you like it!! I used a whooooooleee thing of glitter on it!! 

“Doubtful, since the limit on limbs for octarians is 8 unless your name is Pearl.”

“Does the extra tentacle give ya extra brain power or does it not have a brain in it?”

“Well, it is a mutation, my good sir... it’s my ninth,” Tay shuffles a little uncomfortably, “though my octopus form still has eight, so don’t ask me how that works.” 

He shakes his head dismissively, happy to move on.

Lulu shakes her head. “Oh good gracious Tay, you are drunk off your siphon. Come on, let me help you out,” Lulu huffs as she walks over and tries to help him up out of the seat.

“Why are you even drinking anyway?” Lulu asks.

"Ssso . . . that's a no, then?" he blinks slowly, letting himself be helped up. He ends up leaning entirely onto Lulu for support, giving her a hug like he’d originally intended, but struggling to let go and maintain any balance. He reeks, confusingly, of both liquor and expensive cologne. 

"Hmmm... ‘why’ ...does there have t' be a reason? Maybe I wanted to get drunk. Maaaybe I saw somethin' I didn't wanna see. Maybe I’m not feelin’ like myself today. Mmmaybe ... I should sit down again.” 

what's wrong sabi? you didn't like the game?

“What? No. I never thought of a prison in the form of a snow globe…”

“Oh. Then that’s not so bad--

Snowglobe prisons aren’t fun, believe me. You’re much better off not thinking up such things. Bars wouldn’t hold me, but it’s horribly uncomfortable in here. I feel like everyone’s staring. Normally I like being looked at, but this is quite different!

“Yeah, the one that works for you’s daughter. She’s the one that told me about you,” Lulu replied, “And yeah, no one seemed to have noticed me walk in for some strange reason. Not that I’m here to cause trouble or anything. I’m just here for friendly talk. Still though. Might want to work on the security thing.”

Giving a bow, Lulu introduced herself. “My name is Lulu Entra. How do you do your highness? And you can kinda say I’m from above. I’m not really from around here. At all but I pop in here and there from time to time. And yes, I’m and Inktarian. I usually go by Inktoling though. Or just Octoling hybrid. All works fine,” Lulu remarked.

“Hmm… I’ll have to chase that up later. Should have better guard, but oh well. I could probably defend myself if need be -- I’m just glad someone finally wants to talk, seems like nobody wants to listen to this ol’ Emperor no more,” he pouts.

Octavio seems very pleased at Lulu’s formality, but his very next suggestion is to dismiss it.

“You’re an ’Entra’, huh? I’ll just call you ‘Lulu’, and you can call me ‘Octavio’ or ‘DJ’ or something similar. You’ve caught me in my pyjamas, so I might as well make a special exception and let you dispense my title. They can be quite the mouthful when repeated,” Octavio smirks, flicking his ponytail, “...and same deal, but if you prefer it, I’ll use it. Or not. Probably won’t bring it up again.”

For a moment, he turns and returns to fiddling with the old television on his coffee table, neither of which seem to be very fitting décor for a palace. It’s clear from the dust-free surfaces, however, that this rec room is still well-kept by hired cleaners.

“Just here ta’ mess with ya’ dude. I didn’t ever have kids, so no I don’t think I’m your ghost dad. And-

…Are you eating cereal with a fork?”

“O-oh... ‘course, that’d be ridiculous...! There’s no ghosts here. Ghosts aren’t real. You just look like... like...” Octavio blunders, trailing off.