"Hg--" He comments, brows knitting at the name. "H-g, Mercury, yes." It's a name he might be able to remember all things considered; blue and chemicals, things he knows-- though her nature is abrasive in a way he's sure would be easier to remember. Or recall, to be more specific, he forgets little, but being able to draw it back to the surface of his mind is a bit of a challenge. It's all a mess, upstairs, so to speak but he can reach in and sometimes grip the right thing or two.

"It's not yours," Not his either; he only liked blueberries in the muffins his sister would bring home, in the things he could taste people in the town eating sometimes-- but not these, no, those were hers to cook with or make jam with. Not his. Not Hg's. "They're for my sister."