"...Thanks. Again." He refuses to freak out about the sudden influx of bodily functions and takes a drink. And it sucks. It just doesn't suck as bad as swampy marshy water with fucking corpses in it. Corpse water. ...Another swig sounds good. But he won't be a dick and drink it all (this time).

"Guess it might be hard to shoot us up into the air and hope the interdimensional rip in the fucking fabric of space sorts us back out."