Sagramore is already strapping himself into the pilot's chair, the prepped syringe lying on the dashboard in front of him. The sleeve of his soft tunic is rolled up past the elbow, exposing the lines of tattoos. When Elaine and Mordred come in he looks up at them and manages as smile.
"Well, I apologise for the rush, I wish we'd been able to go a bit more leisurely. Are you ready?"