These competing questions immediately ran into the bottleneck of his cerebral cortex, which had been dealing with a number of issues over the last few days and was in no mood to open itself up to more trampling. He opened his mouth, involuntarily, and made a couple of embarrassed gurgling sounds. This was exactly the opening the questions in his head had been looking for: within moments they had sorted themselves into an orderly line along one of his synapses, voted for an appropriate representative, and allowed said representative to the front of the line to make its case. Wil settled upon the most predictable question possible, given the circumstances: “Dad,” he blurted out in spite of himself, “what are you doing here?” Barry Morgan blinked, evenly. “Well, I was hoping for something a little more welcoming, son,” he said with a smile. “If I’m not mistaken, you invited me here. Or at least your mother did.” “What? How?” Calmly, Barry balanced the Perpetual Penny on the table in front of him and set it spinning with a flick of his finger.
