"You definitely are here," John mused, looking Bobby up and down, and no, he did not vanish into a puff of smoke. Turning his back on his...old friend, John trusted that Bobby would close the fucking front door, and poked his head into the little study on the right of the small landing. "And you don't appear to be a shapeshifter or a hallucination or some other weird bullshit. Study," he added with emphasis, determined to give him the whole tour. "Haven't got much there." Indeed, the bookshelves, while old, were mostly empty, and there were a few boxes of papers on the carpet.

Moving into the hallway proper, he waved absently down the passageway past the study to the right. "Laundry is down that way and you can get out to the garden there. Everything's mostly dead, though."

Turning to go left, he paused for a second. "The 180, with the whole world knowing about this infamous douchebag called Pyro and then zip, nothing. No longer a major figure of recent history." Sure he'd gotten the whole mental warning thing but he never liked psis. How fucking annoying was it to have someone who could get into your head and then refuse to fix you?