Cael tips his head back, no smoke to blow, just a dark sky to implore for the will to go on. He did walk into that one, but it's--cute, he supposes, how happy this Vasquez seems with himself.

They all deserve something like that, tonight.

The hand on his knee contributes just a smidge. "Plan? No, but I don't really know your skills in that area." And with the joke on the table, with the dark and trees separating them from whatever polite company might exist here, he might as well leave the gloves with his odd little sash. "I can only hope you fuck better than you smoke."

He looks down, rather specifically, and back up: "Or that you continue to make up for quality with quantity."