Erik's mouth stretches in a grin that shows all of his teeth; it's perhaps worth mentioning yet again that his mouth shows a wider emotional spectrum than he'd like it to, sometimes. His smiles have shades: they cut with obvious menace or bruise with disdain, they unfurl in humor like a mouthful of myrrh--or this. This is one of Erik's rarer expressions, that untouched by calculation and having no purpose except itself. He wouldn't deny that most of what he does or says is calculated; in his mind it's the only way to navigate the world, by getting to it first before it can get to him.

The rasp in Ned's voice wends its rough way through the webs he keeps around him (so that he'll always have warning) and lights up that space in his mind reserved for those Like Him, the mutants he's met here and back where he came from.

"I can think of nothing I'd like more."

He's still grinning, approval thrown off his entire posture like heat from asphalt. "But I did have something more substantial in mind than leaves."