The Collapse has not come to pass. Pratt isn't dead, nor abandoned to suffer for his many transgressions; alone and anguished for eternity until he's properly atoned for what he's done. And while he mostly wants to stay in his house and hide in case something like that happens again, he can't deny that maybe having a network of people is also a benefit. Especially like-minded people who see this place for what it is: false gods and all.

Besides, what if not everyone came back? It seems like they did, but who knows. The people on the ships are still gone, maybe only some folks were returned from... whatever just happened.

So he's heading over to the garden that Carlisle has, he could do with seeing some greenery now that the orchard has been reduced to a few trees and some scrub. He hesitates as he spots him further in amidst the shrubbery. There's something off about him, but Pratt can't place it. Something different, but he isn't sure what. It wasn't like Pratt had been paying super close attention while doing laundry, he definitely wasn't at his best while scurrying around smelling like a meat packing plant.

Ultimately he shrugs it off, he's being paranoid again. "Morning." He pauses, unsure how to phrase his next thought because ho boy have his social skills taken a beating along with his body while being held captive. "Glad to see you didn't stay vanished."