[Newton snort-laughs — and despite how utterly smashed all the other people in here are, he looks to be only tipsy. Not supposed to be drinking much these days, yanno! He's being a good boy (until the day he isn't, but tonight is not that night). He shimmies out from between two rowdy bodies and stands in front of her, a very boring beer in one hand.]

Well, no! You just gotta avoid the mosh pits! Or — whatever this planet calls 'em! The stomp ground? The flail zone? Who even knows. [But he'll go ahead and stop his dancing (mostly, because his head is still bobbing as if he's a car dash ornament).] What've you been up to, sungirl?! Trying to get out there more, stretch your baby bird wings in sci-fi dive bars? Here, c'mon, let's move out of the concussion zone-

[As he moves her along, something strikes him, very impulsively.]

Oh!!! And check it out!

[He sticks his tongue out, revealing the obvious bar and ball piercing there.]

I gob a tonguh pierthing agaim!