[He's appropriately cowed by the comment about dying, because... y-yeah. Look, he's all for being an optimist and assuming that some weird, timey-wimey bullshit happened to ensure that Pratt didn't wind up like the rest of the flower-covered skeletons he's seen, but... that is probably not how this works, is it?]

Uh... y-yeah. Okay. Fair enough. [It's more than a lot, it's a literally fuck-load of information and trauma and all sorts of other shit, and that's not even talking about their newfound boat-related situation.

Speaking of: Pratt's immediate reaction to the sun hits like a two-by-four, reminding Sharky of his own reaction to blinding light after three years underground. Poor motherfucker really didn't get a lot of time outside of bunkers once Joseph went apeshit. It had been hard for him, and he hadn't died in a firey nuclear apocalypse.]

...Yeah, fifteen years, give or take. Look, just... it's a lot, and I wanna tell you everything but, uh. My brain isn't exactly coping with seeing your face right now? Hence the, uh, stammering and rambling and whatnot. Let's, uh... let's maybe focus on the ship part of things, for a second. [That's a slightly safer conversation than the one that revolves around Pratt fucking dying, that's for sure.] ...Although uh, full disclosure, it's definitely more insane than it already seems.