Amos flicks a little smile at her over his shoulder. "That's the plan, but we'll see how it goes, sugar."

The sweet-name is automatic, going with the rapid snap of his New Orleans accent (Brooklyn meets Southern, his Yat accent both clipped and drawled in equal measures). "Can't promise anything yet. Though I'd be surprised if you could still fight, what with your ribs." He hasn't expected much help, especially after discovering she's injured.