Now that beak Dale calls a nose does wrinkle up, in response to both the piss-reek of whiskey coming off Cash and the stench, whether real or imagined, of whatever foulness is rinsing off Hiro's hands and re-exposing itself to the world. Shifting from one foot to another as the mud on her boots re-liquefies, she peers out from under the awning of her hood, casting about for something that might fit the bill. "Got me," she answers at last, then cinches the hood tighter, presenting an effect oddly reminiscent of a bright green snowman.