[he'll look over, his body not moving an inch -- his conductor held in one fist with its end glowing an orange-gold, his usually red eye lightening a tad to endear itself to a similar colour. he's got that brow quirked, faintly, almost skeptically so, but unsurprised -- he's a unique one, even back where he's from.

the vines intertwine, practically making a basket of sorts to keep the furballs contained, every twist of golden shinsoo an extension of his will.

it is worth noting that somewhere deep down in that cold, cynical heart, he is a little amused that he's got these furballs in the bag (or in the vines, rather --) while reaper is stuck standing there, holding them by the armful.]

You thought I was going to do anything different? Why not carry them all to the airlock. Saves us the travel time of going back and forth.

[yeah, if you thought you were being snarky -- he was being real.]