That one moment spent off his feet, weightless, was positively fucking joyous. Once they'd rid the grounds of every last zombified threat, Pete was going to sleep for a week. First he was going to find an invisiblity cloak, and then he was going to sleep for a week. Invisibly.
"We'd get a lot more glory for all this if they were bigger," he said, turning and saluting the fat lady before jogging after Gabe; keeping up with Gabe's freaky coltish legs and gait-fucking latin swagger always had a bit of a learning curve at first. "Zombie something else. Zombie ogres? Zombie centuars. You think they'd be less condescending if they were hungry for flesh?"
It's not that the situation wasn't dire. It was plenty dire. There was just no point wallowing in anxiety and solemnity. Plenty of time to drape the walls in black and shuffle along with no eye contact once they'd won. Or lost.