Good god. Tim reaches up to pinch at his brow, scrubs his hair out of his face - it's getting overlong again, and he keeps forgetting to cut it, because there's always a million goddamn other things going on here, like bug ladies talking about eating people for fun and profit - and blows out a weary breath.

"No," he says tiredly. "No, I don't. Is it still gonna taste good covered in sand?"

It's her catch, so really, this isn't his problem, necessarily, except the bit where he's not sure he actually managed to get his message through to her.