[ With the permission given, Venom sweeps the flat of his gun-worn finger along the outline of Legolas's ear with medical precision. How funny— maybe he could have been a physician in a past life, if the sniper-sharp focus of his single eye wasn't distinctly combat-honed.

The look eases as he manages to tidy the loose strands of hair back behind his companion's jaw. Pads of his fingers drum along silver-gold, satisfied, before coming back to rest at his side.

He has a hum to spare for Legolas's joke: a half-hm. ]

You have enthusiasm in common with him.

[ Which is a spectacularly rude comparison to make, isn't it, an elf to a wolfdog. It would have been far ruder if Venom'd left it at that, but he braces himself on his feet and looks out into the sprawling expanse of Seychelles waters to find inspiration for his incoming words in the neutrality of the sea. ]

...Got an extraction mission coming up. I'll tell Ocelot to put you down as my backup.