( Forgive him, Nate. Launching into informative offshoots of lectures is just a personality thing and not a commentary on his opinion of the person he's talking to. You can take the boy out of teaching but you can't take teaching out of the boy.

Lance's offhanded commentary about moon-dying is not funny, it's really not, but the tequila's hitting him, too. It draws out a quick, unstifled snort from him that he tries to burry in his cup a second too late.

He clears his throat, still just a touch too much amusement in his expression when he joins them on Plan B. )

Yeah, I think maybe going through an organization for an official means of travel is probably our best bet. But, I'm--

( Framing, Fowler. Find a nice way to put it — nope, filter's a little too slow. )

They fucking hate you guys, though. I mean, sorry- maybe not you, for some reason your face is like an anti-hate forcefield—

( A kindly gesture at Nate with his cup. )

But they definitely hate you.

( Sorry, Lance. )

So I'd really like to be there to see the expression on her face when you guys ask her for a moon ticket.