"Play nice or go armoured again, Tomas. Kids, trust me, we know about paranoia. Don't worry about it. Now is somebody going to start walking homeward, or-- aw, fuck."

The source of that sudden conversational course shift would be the large green mass shuffling into view from a side street a few blocks away. A group of about fifty triffids, all told, heading for the four humans with stingers at the ready.

At least the fuckers are slow.