The sailor gives them both a disgusted look, entirely unbeknownst to Kieran. He's too busy trying to recapture a shred of his dignity before it's swept overboard - as well as trying to keep any more bile from escaping him.

"Well," he says, turning away from the waves with the small, deliberate steps of a child just learning to walk, "it certainly can't hurt."

At worst, it'll be one more thing that comes up later. He slips two mint leaves out, his back resting heavily against the rail, and gives them a sniff before setting them on his tongue. Not unfamiliar, neither a particular favourite nor a hated taste; as he chews, he glances down at the woman beside him. "You're the Rifter, aren't you?"