For the most part, Maine listens with an attentive, if slightly skeptical look on his face. It's hard to stomach all of this magic business, especially in a single day. It's even more difficult to take talk of fairies seriously. If Tinker Bell ever shows up and asks him to take on a mission, he might just piss himself laughing.

But the fact is that Maine is currently in some magical land with darkness, elemental powers, and little fighting creatures called Pokémon. He's staring at a Wash who is several years older than he ought to be. He himself showed up in a place where he'd felt more peaceful in years—and if that isn't magic, he doesn't know what is.

Hurry up and wait is a familiar mantra. But still, Maine can't imagine using that downtime for anything other than training, improving, getting ready to tackle the next challenge. Maybe he's been in SpecOps for too long.

He can't help making a face when Wash mentions bonding with people, though. Maine has never been the most sociable person. Sure, he has people he loves, people he'd take bullets to protect, but those are few and far between.

"Already know you. Carolina."

He shrugs. Why does he need more than that? Throw in Wyoming, and that's the entirety of his PFL social life.

It's a childish complaint, he knows. Still, he hates the idea of being forced to bond with other people for some weird rituals. Why can't he just shoot shit instead?