Dinky glances up from her breakfast battleground, squinting. Scanning. The ancient Dinky memory vault is unlocking. I swear I can hear the gears turn, locks cha-gunking in her mind. Maybe if it wasn't during the designated Dinkster demolition, it would have been a little bit warmer of a reunion -- oop, nope, there it is. I narrowly duck down, thankfully my reflexes haven't rusted as Dinky's magically-grasped fork goes flailing, flinging drippy pancake remnants everywhere. She lights up like a Christmas tree, eyes bulging.