Sal glances sideways just enough to see the man's helmet vanish. It's not a magic trick she's too familiar with, but with a shrug in response, she supposes there's a first for everything. Vaguely she remembers Daiga for a moment, a mage who could move any object with a thought.

"Waiting on all this safety procedure garbage is a waste of time," she agrees. Sal takes back the whiskey, a fine example of this world's alcoholic offerings if she does say so herself, and takes another swig. Pretty unfazed at this point that anyone else has touched it too; living in the wastelands really didn't lend itself to keeping cute manners like that.

"Shit, I could take care of a little fire, even if there was one," she sighs. Proving her words by example, Sal raises one hand and flicks a small, warm flame to life. It bobs just above her open palm obediently for a few moments before she lets it dissipate.

She's bored more than anything, which is a hazard in itself. Could they really stop us if we all just charged back in anyway? She thinks it to herself in irritation.