"We'll find out." Zephyr offers a grin in return, of the sort that gets thrown about on battlefields -- it isn't really funny, but he's decided to be cheerful anyway. "Metal? On it."

He doesn't bother to ask how she plans to do it, or what kind she needs. He's got critical thinking skills and she's got some kind of armor, and the extra big lady there looks like the poetry of a flame in motion. They've got it covered. Zephyr darts off. It's longer than optimal before he comes back, but he's managed to find a crossbeam that's sheared off something else -- it still has fittings on one end, and the other is cut clean. "Here. I can hold it where you need it."