Aw, crap, he's a sweetheart, too. Saturday's stomach is never really un-knotted, these days, but she acknowledges this new information with a pained resignation that might show for a moment on her face.

Well, it might not be as bad as all that. No reason to expect the worst just because it always happens. She makes a non-committal gesture and turns around to signal that she's officially On Lookout, although it's not her eyes she'll be using. A slow breath carries her will into her gut, and all her senses sharpen. The crabs are motionless, until they aren't; she'll know the moment they move. It still doesn't leave a lot of time to react, however.

"All right. I'm Saturday, by the way."