Woody lifts his glass back, smiles without a word and finishes the last of his soda. Swirls the ice cubes for a moment and listens to them clink against the bottom, privately glad that they're already got Rick covered. They...well, they get along and hell, there was a time where they were probably the closest together, during their wilder days. And he still likes him, they're mates. The whole group are.

It's just, well. Sometimes he's hard to talk to. Moreso these days, it seems. Just as well that Bax or Alvo does it. Anyhow it sounds like they're all decided and well he figures there's a more than good chance it's just a pipe dream, something they'll talk about for months and years without ever seeing it come to pass, it's a nice thought. A fun dream.

He taps his fingers over the table again, knows he's spent more of the evening absorbed in his own thoughts than he has chatting. Not that he's chatty usually. He's never seen the point in going on without really saying anything, and he's never had the gift of gab the way some have.

So he doesn't say anything else, just sits back and watches, and listens, and thinks that for all it's a little rough around the edges this is one of those moments he wants to keep in his mind for as long as he can.