Ollie waved a hand at the suggestion that he get up and strap in. He was old. Getting up took time. And he had just been running and leaping into a moving plane. A slow moving plane, but a moving plane none the less. Green Arrow tossed a little, and pushed to his feet, scooping his bow up off the floor as he made his way, step by step, to one of the other seats where he could flop, and buckle himself in.
"So you're not Fyers' replacement and you're not CIA." But she was pissy about being mistaken for either, which only left about half a dozen other organizations she could be with. He reached up to push his hood back, and dropping his head back against the back of the plane to try to finish catching his breath.
"So, to what do I owe the ride home? I hear the standard is cash, ass or grass, but do you take AMEX?"