Radar muffles a tiny squeak in the back of his throat, half scared and half indignant. The kindness of the Mothers might've spoiled him a little; he wasn't expecting a god to be this mad, in both meanings of the word.

(Honestly, he thinks faintly, he probably should've expected it. Of course. Fever's dad would be kinda terrifying and talk about turning people's guts into instruments and stuff.)

"Well I know now," he says, more miffed than he intends, but it slips out before he can slam a mortified lid on it. Catching himself, "Sir. Uh, sorry sir, I didn't mean that."