It's actually Soylent Red - god bless you, Sam. Jo's the only other person here who gets his references, and her default response tends to be shooting him an unimpressed look or giving him shit about it. Nice to have someone who can riff back.

Less great: noticing the way Sam's eyes drop to his forearm. For a fleeting moment, it makes his jaw set — but he shrugs it off. Pushes it down immediately. It's not gonna be a thing, not right here, not right now. Not today.

We're us no matter what.

Yeah. For better or for worse.

"Now, we get you to the city. Get you a room, some clothes, get you strapped. Hope you're ready to brush up on your fencing." Because guns are rare and expensive; he's got a rifle strapped to his back, but it took him months of saving up and some serious sweet-talking a gunsmith to get it. Jo still doesn't have one. It's gonna be a sword-heavy season, brother. "Then we make friends with a bottle of whiskey, and I'll fill you in."

They make it to the stables, where he intends to saddle up and ride them back.

Except Karen takes one look at this bullshit and draws her line in the fucking sand. Really, who could blame her?