[Paul curls his fingers readily around the box, and just as readily opens it with unfiltered anticipatory delight. He goes so far as to laugh aloud when he discovers what's inside, eagerly pulling them free to offer them back to her with a gleam in his eye that he's come closest to when they've sparred.

But this look lacks the challenge of the other. It lacks the edge that's always somewhere underneath everything else, the wary poise.]

No. No fishing facts - and these are amazing, thank you - would you put them on me, please? I'd like to wear them. On the vest.

[His words have a faintly run together quality when he's not attentive to his enunciation.]

Unless - do you want the fishing facts? I can tell you some, if you want them.