Grace slips her headset into place, checks all her belts and buckles, and turns her head toward Trudy. Her eyes are obscured by a pair of dark shades, but beyond that mic her slow spreading smile can be seen clear as day.

"Good."

She looks forward, eyes landing on a picture of a Pandora sunset set among the typical instrumentation.

"Just don't make me want to kill ya until we're back on ground again. I'm meaner without my nicotine."