The Floodlands You never go to parties.

His brain was locked in a loop of gratuitous ways he could be verbally or physically eviscerated and was waiting for the hammer to drop when it just... didn't.  Oh hey.  Yeah, uh, no prob.  I wish it had gone better, though. But at least not as bad as it could have been.  It took a little more focus than normal for him to make sure he kept himself facing a direction where Towhee would be able to tell what he was saying, but at least the Worst Case didn't seem to be happening yet, so that relaxed him a bit.

And then she continued. Talk about mental whiplash.  W-what? was all he could stutter for a moment. After the brain gears slipped a bit, they finally caught again and he had a slightly more verbal response, Nah, that's what everyone else liked fighting over, I just liked staying alive.  So no, he hadn't really thought about it except from from the perspective that it was totes all screwed up always and 5ever.  The hell was she asking about it for anyway?  It was probably just because he knew all the facts that he thought it sounded like a really bad idea that wasn't likely to happen.  A nice pipe bomb waiting to explode in someone's face -- his, hers, some random other person who happened to show up conveniently at the wrong time... 

The only good thing he could think of? A leader could bring Colt back in.   The rest of the stuff Qui had in the past complained about?  Technically could be done by anyone if given the free rein to do so.  Despite all his complaints and history, he'd never thought about officially stepping up to do anything about the problems he saw -- just happy to be a worker bee so people would leave him alone at the end of the day.