You're the brain invader, not me.

[He's--actually surprised that she moves, and thus he hesitates for a moment before taking his seat. At least she seems to have figured out some the Falcon's fiddly bits. The smell of hyperfuel floods the old ship, a hiss echoing somewhere back behind them.

Ben reaches up to the landing gear to set them into space.]

You can angle the shields if you're that worried, instead of making me reach over you.