Ebonhides were not meant to laugh this much. Nate's face hurts. There are tears streaming down his face. This is hell. Nate didn't realize hell could sound so joyful.

"This is--" deep breath, renewed giggling, "--the third worst plague--" even the word plague, which had never had positive connotations even before this year, is goddamn hilarious, "--we've ever had."

Nate's holding his stomach, flopped over on his side on the floor. He couldn't even make it up to his bed because there was a bird watching him through the window. Get it? A bird! (There is no joke. It's just a bird.)