"Great! Nice to know that Shelob is running around and she's hungry!" He takes a breath, slams what's left of his drink, and gratefully accepts the fresh one as it arrives at their table (service really is fast around here). "Jesus Christ." It's a mutter into his glass, but fuck, he needs the minute to process.

Another deep breath, another sip of whiskey, and he's...better. Ish. Good enough, at least for now. "So if we get dismembered when we die, we're fucked," he says flatly. Evidently the bracer is something to hold onto.

"Also - again - who died?" They either need more combat training, or someone to keep an eye on them in the field, or something. The Director politely asking them not to die is not going to fix that issue.