Her attention lifted to the jagged cliffs above. Peggy wanted to look anywhere else but at him -- in a flash, she'd grown less transfixed by the horrors of his healing body. There was an unpleasant tension in her throat, and she was forced again to estimate how long it had been since she'd last lost the contents of her stomach. Long enough to make the prospect all the more unwelcome. Her guts weren't made of steel, and so she maintained a pedal note of distress.

"Our absentee landlords," she decided. Hosts; citizens; aliens, perhaps. So long as she wasn't looking at him, she could keep a kind of calm certainty about her words. Sentimentality was kept at bay. "--French...?" The SSR agent didn't bother turning her gaze while she worked through Logan's complaint. She damn well knew what such a kiss was, but her mind was at work and work had nothing to do with kissing. She sighed her mild hindsight's amusement through her nose when she realized the what exact wry comment Logan had been trying to make.

"I don't fancy a snog like that," she answered -- implying (of course) that the creature's affections had left him rather worse for wear. Perhaps she didn't yet understand the probing appendage had caused the kerfuffle, rather than assuming it had been the kerfuffle entire. "Bloody continental, isn't it? Kissing on the cheek when one first meets. Awful. Do you know which way it went?"

At long last she turned, leaning heavily upon the rifle.