If Twelve ever told Michael that not believing in the trolley problem was an option, he'd be mind-blown. For now, however, he just threw up an arm to keep the sparks out of his hair. Protect the hair at all costs.
"Can you? I bet it'd be fantastic. I wish Janet were here, she'd be immensely helpful. And while you're throwing shade, maybe throw some more at the chicken, and not at -- that's it."
He snapped his fingers, pointing at Twelve. "We can do things, here, right? Okay. Oh, it's been a while. Not usually my department."
He rubbed his hands together. "Right. Fire." Sparks flew from between his hands at the friction, and as he drew them apart and back, waves of heat roiled in the air around his palms.
"Stand back."
What spewed forth from his hands wasn't necessarily on par with, say, built-in-flamethrowers, but it was enough to get in the dire chicken's eyes and make it think twice about what it was doing.
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"Can you? I bet it'd be fantastic. I wish Janet were here, she'd be immensely helpful. And while you're throwing shade, maybe throw some more at the chicken, and not at -- that's it."
He snapped his fingers, pointing at Twelve. "We can do things, here, right? Okay. Oh, it's been a while. Not usually my department."
He rubbed his hands together. "Right. Fire." Sparks flew from between his hands at the friction, and as he drew them apart and back, waves of heat roiled in the air around his palms.
"Stand back."
What spewed forth from his hands wasn't necessarily on par with, say, built-in-flamethrowers, but it was enough to get in the dire chicken's eyes and make it think twice about what it was doing.