"You've made a frightening number of assumptions in the first thirty seconds alone," says Arista with a tone that would imply she finds both bird and man to be irredeemably offensive on some deep and personal level. "Care to continue? Logical fallacies just make themselves terribly fucking appealing, you know."

Rush looks between cat and bird, uncertain as to which he should be addressing. Ultimately he will have to take a relatively systematic approach to the sprawling chaos of the situation or he will risk it escalating to an intolerable level of disorganization he would simply rather avoid.

"Nicholas Rush," he says, expression caught between puzzlement and, oddly, faint amusement. "You'd be familiar with the concept of a spatially-secluded Manhattan, I presume?"