[ ...For sure not a demon. She's never seen a rev yet turn that shade of clammy, fishbelly white. If it's an act, it's a good one: the guy looks the way she felt after that one night in Tijuana and an unlabeled bottle that definitely wasn't tequila. It's pathetic enough that she finally lowers Peacemaker, sliding the barrel of the old Buntline back into its holster as she casts a wary, disdainful look at him. ]

I am not catching you if you faint.

[ First Lieutenant Edward Little. Only one of those words makes sense to her, but something else niggles at the back of her mind as he stumbles through his introduction — that other part to it, the part where he said I serve aboard Terror.

Terror. HMS Terror. She can't put her finger on why it sounds familiar, but she's pretty sure she knows someone who can. ]

Okay, okay! Jesus, dude, get a grip.

[ She eyes him for another long moment, then turns half away as she reaches for the phone in her pocket. It's not to give him some privacy so he can throw up with a little dignity, more just that this whole situation is truly epics levels of bonkers, and if she's not going to shoot him, then she needs to figure out what else she can do with him.

Dolls picks up on the first ring; she can hear the rush of wind past his voice. He must be in the car. I'm on my way. ]

I know, but it's not what we thought. It's not a revhead.

[ She glances over at First Lieutenant Edward Little, eyebrows lifting. ]

Pretty sure it's something a whole lot weirder. The only demonic thing about this guy is how hellishly bad his facial hair is. Hey—

[ She pitches her voice a little lower, even though the guy is locked in such a panic spiral he might not be able to hear her anyway. ]

— Have you ever heard of the HMS Terror?