It's about the best feedback he's gotten on one of his drink abominations, and it's impossible to hide how pleased he is about it. His shoulders fall a little straighter, his smile a little brighter, tinged by uncertainty as it is.

He looks at the bartender again, like she's going to lean over and tell him in that gravely voice that no, she doesn't have a brain at all.

"I... haven't thought that hard about their brains, honestly," Flynn says after a moment. "You need one to function, don't you? So they must have them. Honestly, I wonder if... if you lose enough of yourself, if this is just what happens. Maybe they can be fixed."