She nods. Poor bloke's shaken up. She falls into step with him, a comfortable walk now she's in her sensible boots. She's alright with heels, so the air hostessing didn't give her much problem, but she isn't one of those ninja hussies on TV who do all their fighting in Louboutins and magically never break their necks. No way, man.

"I'm Tig," she says, after a few moments. "Guess if we're going to be stuck on this sinkhole we should at least be on naming terms."