The Balladeer cups his hand around Greta's, drawing the phone back a few more inches so he can focus on it. "Hahaha! I'll tell her!" Or...maybe she knows already? She probably does. How do dream demons work?

In all seriousness, though, that's so nice. Have he and Iman ever even talked without Greta mediating, outside of dreams at least? She didn't have to say anything like that about him. "Tell her thanks," he says, letting the phone go again and leaning back. That means more even than the invitation to her world. It's more real. Escaping Manhattan is wonderful to think about; it also might never happen. But here, right now, he has people who think of him as family.

"I never had a family," he says casually, words still flowing much more freely than normal. It's not an absence he ever felt keenly. Even the other buskers know he hasn't got one, though they assume some long-distant tragedy, filling in the gaps of his past for him. "Not to be depressing! It's fine. But that's...it's cool."

(For all that he was claiming Oswald's family earlier, they don't occur to him right now.)