Cerulean Cape earth to herc, come in herc -

So she, too, was a foreigner — at least they had comradery in that.  Though unlike him, she seemed rather worldly.  They may have had something in common, but something told him she was [so much] smarter than he.  Not that that was particularly difficult for anyone.  “So are you from some place, like, super sick?” He queried as he rolled onto his back.  “You seem super fancy. Like total royalty or something.”  He mused, then his eyes widened as he gasped, “are you like, some kind of queen?”  Oh far out — she totally could have been a queen!  She had that unmistakable atmosphere to her, the type which beguiled people to follow her.  Which is partly what prompted him to — when she divulged, she was looking for a home, yet found them unsatisfactory — blurt out, “why not just make your own?” To him it wasn’t farfetched.  She didn’t particularly seem the type to be bogged down under the heel of subservience, and she seemed fitting to lead.  “Like I totally get it,” he started, rolling to his feet, “I’m not the type to be tied down.  I’m like a bird, man, gotta spread my wings. Always lookin for a new tree. You don’t seem like that vanilla pack-type either. We’re birds, man.” If he'd had hands, he'd have placed one on her shoulder, affording her an earnest look, "you gotta find your own tree."