"There's some lounge chairs on the deck, maybe we can leave him there while we--" Tony started, already hearing how it sounded as it came out of his mouth, and sure that leaving a dead body to cook in the sun in a frog costume was some kind of ethical failure that wouldn't be recovered from. In was arguably lucky, then, that the trio were suddenly stopped by the appearance of the footman, who looked as vague and unpresent as ever while his gaze lingered on the frog man, whose costume bulged awkwardly where his clothes had been stuffed roughly into it, and whose head lolled forward and feet dragged.

"I would thank you to keep your composure until we land, sirs," the footman said. "Some water for the gentleman, perhaps?"

"Sure, hey, listen--" Tony rushed by, flapping his free hand and trying not to look like he was sweating too much. "That package you were trying to give me, what happened to it?"

The footman blinked, and offered, "It was signed for."