"Fine. Fine. Go tangle with a superhuman creature without proper supplies, see what the fuck I care," Paul grumps at the tablet and the psychedelic mess of black and white on the other side of it.

"Someone with-- oh for the love of-- yeah, you go do that, Keirsey."

The 'advice', well, Paul can't tell whether it's genuine or not. At the moment he doesn't care, he just wants the headache to stop-- whether by that he means the pain from the injury or from this conversation, he doesn't know.

"Thanks," he answers in turn, tone flat. "Don't get bit."