"Pre'y sho' House got anotha' pair'a pants fo' ya 'roun' here somewhere, son." Del said with a shake of his head as he looked down at the NCR kid, clutching the teddy bear the Nightkin had given him, and now stinking of piss and fear. Which smelled pretty similar, really. Reaching over to the platter of biscuits he took two of the delicious-smelling pastries, packing one away for the road. It would probably be hard as a rock later, but it would still taste better than the molerat jerky he had right now. Then he looked up at the Nightkin, who apparently was just as crazy as the rest, but not of the sort to beat a man to death with his own fists because the voices in his head got too loud. 

"From De Delta. New O'leans you wanna git mo' specific." He didn't expect the Nightkin to have any clue as to where New Orleans was, or even what The Delta even looked like. Then again most folk aside from Tribals and the Cajuns stayed out of that region. He couldn't blame them, really, with the mutant alligators and Swamp Folk. For some reason, though, people just seemed to love to imagine that swamps and the bayou were the home to every monster from every little horror story ever written. He'd even heard some boys from The Boneyard spinning tales about fishmen that lived out in the most remote parts of The Delta, worshiping some weird-ass squid monster god or whatever the fuck it was. He blamed that story on Jet.

"Guessin' ya a'ready know Tennpeny, den?"