"Just as well! I'd get hung up and you'd cut something you wouldn't want cut," she says. Forehead horns and facial gear not made specially for her don't mix well. She notices that he mentions her hooves. The mask must be ferric, or else he's resistant some other way.

Honestly, Scout doesn't like the feel of solid armor, how it seems to blunt her senses. There are tradeoffs to be made, even with the very light high-mobility articles she picked up in service. She's just also practical enough to grasp the importance of face protection.

"Nice! Hit a home run for me, won't you?" She knows a little about baseball, but cricket's alien. Scout drops to a crouch to examine someone who's been fully facehugged, wincing as she logs the slow, comatose breathing rate.