Voodoo doesn't respond - more to the point he doesn't hear her, busy as he is patting out the nascent flame. For an oil fire, it dies fast, and he squeezes the affected arm. Pain jolts up his arm like a lance.

"Just a burn. No bone. I'll be fine."

He presses his head to the deck as the pipes spit fire again, then hops to his feet when they die out.

"C'mon, move!"