Believe it or not, that question actually earns a bark of unexpected laughter from him, head thrown back to the sky even as he heaves his net of ice slime heavily from the water. It's too heavy for him to answer back properly until he lands, panting, hoisting his burden onto the sand.

"Believe it or not," he grunts, dusting his hands off on his thighs, "These are a here thing. Gift from the big fuck-off rock everybody needs to leave the hell alone."

Thank you, singularity.

He eyes her with good humor, and says in a conspiratorial tone, "Between you and me? Terrified of flying. Hate heights. Worst Christmas present ever."