One is Silver, the Other Gold
He had never seen the appeal of the Day of the Departed. Lanterns in the sky, maudlin glances, saccharine stories. Taken in by foolishness and false nostalgia, the lot of them.
Ah, well. He supposed they were only humans, after all.
Being so much more sensible, naturally, he did not startle when there was a knock at his door, and there was no hurry in his movements as he drew open the curtain. He had never been the sort to have company.
There in his doorway stood a green ninja, no longer a child, with a bottle of something older even than he was, and something like a smile in his eyes.
He could not help but think of stealing candy from particularly undeserving babies as he opened the door.
"Lloyd." Half a greeting, half a challenge. "To what do I owe this unusual honor?"
Lloyd Garmadon hefted the bottle in an imaginary toast, lifted an eyebrow. So like his father, answering a question with another question. "We go way back, don't we?"
"I suppose." Hedging, as ever, easier to slither around a subject rather than tackling it head-on. "Though that may be a rather underwhelming reason to pay a visit to an old nemesis."
"Henchman." Lloyd winked, and it was easy to imagine him kicking over the "Keep Off The Grass" sign to amble across the beautiful, forbidden lawn. "Happy Day of the Departed, Pythor."