"No," McCoy agrees, still clearly in over his head but flailing for the surface anyway, his confusion apparent in his eyes and in the rapidly deepening furrow of his brow. He has, he realizes, lost complete control over the conversation, because now they're apparently discussing the effect that hats have on saliva and what has his life become. "No, I don't think hats do, normally."

He checks his CiD for the time. "Uh, listen, I gotta get back to Hellsing. It's been... " A hesitation. "A conversation with you, Mr. Lovegood."