Irving is a funny person. They look like this:

That can’t be right. Maybe this:

Or this:

But no matter. Currently, Irving is standing, gazing out of the window of their pride and joy, lifting their small body up onto their tippy toes. They see Cormac’s little ship, a puny little thing, pull closer into their own.

Cormac’s ship moves jankily, sloppily, definitely not Cormac’s usual fare. Irving quirks an eyebrow.

The two ships inch towards each other, yearning to be close but not wanting to hit each other. Irving squints and sees Cormac perched by the window of his ship.

Cormac looks positively furious. Irving grins.