Winter's grinning at the exchange between Presley and Mary Grace, quietly amused and plainly caught off guard by Presley's next question, directed at her. Her gaze cuts left, then right, but there's no one else here named Carmichael, Winter, you dope. "I..."

She thinks of El Qualls, and the way he saw Pocket. In this dark basement bathed in flame, she was something transcendant. A beacon, a goddess. It had seemed a tad over the top to Winter when they'd stepped in, but now, looking at Presley, soaked with milk, flecked with cornflakes and muck, she can kind of see where El Qualls was coming from. Maybe not quite so grand. But, sometimes, someone's just exactly who you want to see. A light in the dark.

She picks a cornflake from his hair and flicks it aside, her lips parting into a a grin. Bright, bashful bashful laughter chases that smile, wholly inappropriate for their current setting. "I... absolutely do." She tips her head toward the portal. "Let's go save a party bug."