Ned, too, showed up wanting to make the best impression he possibly could. He didn't bat an eye at the rather unusual combination of colors that Ginsberg is wearing, though he looks perhaps a little more somber in his usual black-and-white attire. He'd started grinning the second he spotted Ginsberg waiting for him outside the main doors, and he hasn't stopped since. It is, perhaps, the one thing that's less subtle about the two of them roaming the halls together, amidst the happy families with the loud children, the wandering college students, the older couples shuffling along.

He's also had his hands shoved deep in his pockets since they came inside and were confronted, immediately, with a bevy of posed skeletons and taxidermied animals. Most of the displays are behind glass, but not all of them, and Ned is taking absolutely no chances. He wants this date to go well, not turn into a life-ruining nightmare, thanks very much.

"Probably should," he agrees, but he likes that Ginsberg is the guy who thinks about the guy who puts up the exhibits. It's such an unusual thing, as far as he's concerned, to cross one's mind in a museum. "But they probably don't need to rearrange them that often, do they? Only when the museum gets something new, or when some pesky paleontologist tells them that actually they had it wrong the whole time."