Smiling at the compliment, Thomas looks back at the little tent. His little sunlit prismatic pyramid. It was odd to think of it as a nice home; Crimson Peak, for all its horrors and dilapidation, had actually been better furnished and sturdier. Neither was decent for any kind of inclement weather. But hope and sunlight died in Crimson Peak, and in some ways his shoddy little tent was actually the best place he'd ever lived in. Short of that lovely night at the post office that he wished he could relive for the rest of his life. And the few months of having been adopted and living in an actual house, after coming to the nexus. Before that reality had became somehow no longer traversable.

Thomas hushes over the Swede's disbelief, hugging tighter as he hears Swede sniffing. Ew. Ewewewewewewewewewewew. No. No, snot came with tears and tears came with hope and hope was worth the snot. Ew.

"You don't seem like you really want to be a pirate," Thomas pointed out, still holding Swede and becoming one with the fish smell, "I've not seen you make a threat of yourself. And your voice is far too fine to have not had practice."