Grif closed his eyes and slowly counted to ten, as he'd been taught to in anger management class. He was quite the sight, his tuxedo in tatters, part of it pulled away entirely to get at the panel of his armor that contained his teleporter gear so he could replace it again. The corpses of three-legged bulldog-like Houndeyes littered the ground in front of him, two of them noticeably flatter than the others. Serina's sarcastic condescension, which had already made an unwelcome intrusion during the party itself, was quite possibly the last thing he could've needed just then.
Once he was reasonably sure he wouldn't fly off the handle, he switched his transmitter back on. «It was lovely, Serina,» he said, not even trying to hide how he was talking though gritted teeth. «You and I still have to have a little chat about what happened back there.»
The broad, even tones of Captain Cutter's voice cut into the conversation. «Sort it out on your own time, both of you. Grif, come back to the Spirit. The Colonels want a debrief, and you need to rearm before being sent to the next objective.»
In a way, the Captain's no-nonsense interjection was a welcome breath of reasonable sanity, something Grif could focus on in place of his annoyances. He sighed. «Yeah, okay. Be there in a jiffy.» Closing the connection, he looked down at himself, shook his head and sighed again before triggering his PINpoint.
"Man. I really liked this tux."