Jedao's presence pulls a grin from Eiffel as he looks up at his friend.

"Well, on a scale from 'peak human performance' to 'frostbitten box of Hot Pockets from the back of the Walmart mini-freezer', I'm coasting somewhere around 'post-bender hangover'."

Which he knows means little to nothing to Jedao, but the fact he's got enough brain cells to rub together to make a reference is probably a good thing. He reaches over to grab the shirt, still moving a little slowly, and doesn't bother unfolding it before he shoves an arm into it. Which immediately ends up in the neck hole.