HIs eyes keep darting from her to the room and back again, where they settle for a good long few seconds before they're off again; tracking the movement around them, watching the people who are watching them. The pistol slung low on his thigh is a welcome, friendly weight, but no one's making any sudden, stupid moves, or even paying much attention.

Apparently, this is something that happens all the --

He looks back at her, brow creasing. "Ship?"

He doesn't know a whole lot about ships, but he's pretty sure this isn't like any sailing the world he knows. His mouth opens to make the words heaven?, but before he can, he's caught by the sight of them.

Stars.

Millions of them. More than he can count. More than he can keep track of.

He wonders if he's dead. How the hell else would he find himself surrounded by stars, nowhere near anything he knows?