[ He meets Douman's gaze, his own level and comfortable with being sized up. Anything he's got to hide won't be found on his person, in his body language. Not like this, at least.

Amos inclines his chin at the notion that he would go for Douman's sand, just like that, and — yeah, maybe? He isn't so trigger-happpy, but getting the drop on him would be important if it came to it. Douman doesn't look like a fighter, but that doesn't mean jack shit. Especially not when the guy's got magic at his disposal—

And any potential scoping out or plans of attack are immediately rendered all for naught. Just a quirk of the eyebrow at the way Douman doesn't seem to care for actual loyalty — said to someone who would do anything for Yima with hardly a second thought — but they can skip past that. It'll only be a problem when it's a problem, and right now... ]

Nope. Place I'm from has been dead for almost a year. Highstorm's home now.

[ ... right now they've got absolutely no problems with one another, which invites a friendly little pat of Douman's upper arm, courtesy of Amos. (His normal move is to go for the shoulder, but the height difference might be a bit much.) ]

Guess that makes it home for you too, huh? [ Which is a good thing — the more the merrier. ] Think it's fair to miss it a little, actually, since there's actual food there, but it'll all be worth it if we've helped the Zenith out after all of this. Fuck if I'm not taking the hottest bath when we get back, though.

[ This is officially friendly co-worker chitchat now. ]