[ Nina is not intimidated, but there is something, beg pardon, fucking creepy about his gaze. She laughs, and it sounds for all the world like she is genuinely amused, smiling with a dimple making a brief appearance. She imagines crumbling his lungs and it fails to make her feel better - if he doesn't have a regular heartbeat, does he need to breathe? Would boiling his blood work, rupturing his spleen? Paralysis, perhaps? She's uncertain of the success of any of these things in what appears to be, essentially, an animated corpse. ]

That's certainly one way of looking at it. [ With friendly flirtation, almost demurely: ] Though I suppose one can always find something to be grateful for. [ And, because, hell no: ] Less volcra, for example. Does your world have anything like that?