The last thing he expected was to find his friends in worse states than himself. It's a pretty difficult thing to do at this time of year, but Jim certainly manages. In hindsight it's not all that surprising, going by the stories circulating the Nexus in all their dozens of forms.

"Jim. Some people think you're dead, you know, and by the looks of things a gentle breeze might knock you into one of those graves." He stirs to fetch a nearby chair and set it down closer to his friend. "Sit. I'd offer you something to drink, but there's nothing on hand." Not anymore anyway.

He lifts an eyebrow at the other man. It's impossible to miss the poignant undertone to Jim's words. "Funerals are supposed to be for remembering the dead, not to ease their guilt, you know."