"She's polite," he points out primly, in a way that almost seems defensive. But then he's flipping himself backwards and into a gentle spiral as he calls out, "Tiny Hera, you there?"

"Yes, Officer Eiffel?"

"You mind telling me where Doc Ock's at, at the mo'?"

"Currently your inmate is located in the library, third floor. He appears to be engaged with a book of poetry."

He smiles, and there's something indescribably soft to it. "Thanks, babe."