At this point all he can really do is sigh. Fuck this island, for the millionth time. Fuck it double for Lup having to go all shifty and diffident, he's already done enough of that this evening for both of them for the rest of their lives actually. He's not here for hearing that in her voice or having her look away like, like she's the one who fucked up here. He's too tired and dulled to even know what to say, and fuck that too.

"Yep, that's me, head chef of Trash Island Resort, now where's my fucking raise," he says, and it's very droll over all the horrified resignation, a real rollercoaster packed in that sentence. But he appreciates her attempt all the same, and whatever negativity is there, it's certainly not directed at her, not when he's got a whole fuckin island as a target. They really gotta keep it together, is the thing. Making eye contact with an emotion, as a concept, is on cooldown now. Can't do it.

"Maybe it will be better tomorrow," he tries for reassuring, apology, just something to say even. They both know it's probably bullshit but it would hurt not to say anything and just drown in his own helplessness, which is undoubtedly mirroring hers. And that's the established mechanic anyway, right? This isn't really like that, this pacing of magic exertion, these complete spell failures, that's not...that's not 'long rest' material, he strongly suspects. But maybe. Does he have a shot at being the optimism twin? He honestly doesn't remember but he thinks not.