There is some fucked up shit going on. This is nothing new, especially not for Cook's life, but this is a new brand of fucked up shit. He hasn't been up that long, hasn't had time to enjoy the misery of everyone else's changes as much as he'd want, but the day's long and the rumor is this shit lasts for days. He thinks he remembers that anyway, from the snippets of conversations when he first showed up.

Whatever. Anything to distract him from the shambles of his own life.

He's whistling as he walks down the boardwalk, eyes bright and wide, ears perked, ready to pick up the first note of discord in their tropical paradise and laugh at it. He honestly doesn't expect that first note heard to be the plaintive call of a girl no more than his age. It takes Cook a second to get a good look at her face and adjust for, well, magic, but he doesn't pause his walk to gawk, just looks casually.

"You alright there, Sarah?" he asks. He could be wrong; if he is he'll take it full on the chin.