Slobo could tell when telepathy was happening. He couldn't hear it, due to interference from his own messed up brain, but it gave him a migraine and sounded like immense static.

"Funny, seein' as how Lexy here ain't to be trusted, you shmucks are havin' a lot of secret conversations the rest of us may not be able ta hear. That says bad planning, no recon, and bein' just as untrustworthy ta me." He walked to the bar and poured himself a drink. "I'm on yer team, an no one asked me how these happy psycho-conversations applied ta me or my kind. So how about ya share what ya have ta say with the rest of the class, like Bart did?" With that, he took a healthy swig of scotch, poured another, and began pouring a bit of the cheaper alcohol on the burns from the tentacles that currently marked his arms.