Jeff doesn't answer at first. He just stares at his coffee, expression going a bit distant. When he does speak up, his voice is soft, and not entirely certain. "Something heard my music. It... it found me, and..."

How can he describe possession to somebody who comes from a world that doesn't have magic? 'Demon' is such a clumsy, inaccurate word, and it only conjures up images of evil and little girls spewing split pea soup all over priests. Ziggy isn't-- wasn't-- evil. It wasn't good, either. It just was. It was so wholly divorced from humanity and the physical world that he can't find any appropriate words for it.

Ziggy was an abstraction, driven insane by getting trapped in a plane of existence where it didn't belong.

Jeff puts two fingers to his temple, less pointing, more mimicking a gun.

"Doesn't matter. It's gone now."