Nothing fundamentally dangerous to humans, I know that much.

[She'd scanned it, naturally—then eaten a spoonful of it, crunching thoughtfully on the leaves and flowers as she read through the largely uneventful data readout.]

Apparently it's a seasonal blend for the planet. Special edition, or--a family of stones rolls across the landscape, giggling as they bump into each other. It's courtship season, and they're headed for the beach--

She attempts to catch up with her own train of thought, and successfully manages to swing into one of its metaphorical boxcars waving a free hand in front of herself.]--something like that.

[Letting the hand drop, she leans back, letting her head rest against the couch's cushion, a thin puff of breath exhaled through her nose.]

I guess it's not so bad. Can't really complain.

[She could—for all the good it would do. It's stupid. It's irritating. But it's, at least, vaguely interesting at points, right? Silver lining.]

I mean, one time, back on the Moira—our ship, the one that crash-landed? I was half-glass for a week or so. That was inconvenient.