Mr. Tweed had at least heard of a lot of things that someone from his era probably wouldn’t have normally. The whole… cult leaders poisoning their followers’ thing was a new one, evidently, by the expression on his face. An awkward furrow of his brows and a frown tugging at his expression indicated as much. “I’d say with something like that, once would be hard to forget.”

But at least he understood the reference now, and he was quite quick to wave that notion off as he took a bite of his own meal. Just a sandwich for now, since he intended to eat again later. “No, I assure you that there’s no poison involved. That would ruin a rather good meal, and I’ve already had food ruined by that before.” He commented, considering past experiences with a shrug. Murderous twelve-year-olds and bottles of strychnine did not mix with carnival foods well.