Tarn snorts but otherwise ignores the snap comment. It's almost hard to tell that Spinister had showered at all while he was having dalliances with Brainstorm. He shudders, thinking of what the state of his armor would be if he hadn't.

He makes quick, efficient, work with the brush, working from the rotor mechanism to his back struts, sweeping off cloud after cloud of dust. Once satisfied, he reaches for his rag, running it across his shoulders and dipping it into the back of the heli's collar assembly to scrub at a bit of caked on grime.

"You'll tell me if anything that I'm doing is bothering you." It's not a request.