York watches the glitter flit through the air with a closed mouth smile - he doesn't want that in his cooling system for certain. He could envision it now: 'death by glitter clogged system'. Nasty way to go.

He doesn't reach for the hand, choosing to keep his distance for the moment. The hand not holding a container of sparkly future ammunition goes to hide in his hoodie pocket.

"York Stark. And the network is on a little device," he pulls his out to show with a little wiggle of his hand, "connects you to all the other human shit bags here. Do you have that kind of tech in your world or no? Got some people here that knew only parchment and messenger pigeons. Or ravens. Something weird like that."