Oh, don't worry, Grif: no handlebars just meant it was easier to fall off of. Tucker knew that, watched it, promptly forgot it because he was a little (lotta) tipsy. Surely it would pop up again later.

There was the curious blinking, before one hand slapped the water again, making certain to splash them both. Fuck it, friendly fire was an acceptable casualty sometimes.

"None of them are here," he said. "We might be able to keep this place around for longer than five seconds since both of our Mr. MidasTouchButWithFire people are back home."

Our. Fuck, he was doing it again. He scowled a little, smacking the water harder now, creating waves. He was good at that.

"Not that you care." There. Back on track.