Izzy squinted, dumbfounded, at this hulking brute of a man trying to make weird halfassed cold puns at her. Why did people always do puns at her? Was it some kind of weirdo in-joke she wasn't in on? 

[i][color=6ecff6]Izzy[/color][/i]

No, seriously though, this was every time. Was it a cultist thing? He looked kinda like a cultist. All that black, you know, and the sky wizard crap. Why'd she always attract freaks, anyway? Why couldn't she ever work with a cool demon hunter, like Van Helsing?

[b][color=6ecff6][i]Izzy[/i][/color][/b]

Oh man, but then she'd have to fight Dracula or something. That guy was, like, Transylvanian top dog. How the hell do you even beat Dracula? He's like-

[color=6ecff6][i][b]IZZY[/b][/i][/color]

"Wha?"

[i][color=6ecff6]The pilot is talking to you[/color][/i]

"Huh?"

She looked over to see the now-recovered pilot.

"Oh, right, yeah. Gnarly stuff duderino. Hope your wife's okay 'n junk."

[i][color=6ecff6]Just go get that case[/color][/i]

"...What case?"

Wendigo gave whatever the telepathic equivalent of a sigh was

[color=6ecff6][i]Look, just... Just go. I'll tell you where.[/i][/color]

"Aight rad."

Izzy performed a pretzel, flipping her board so she was facing towards the pilot and Zacharias.

"Hey, like, it's been real cool and all bruh, but I, uh, left my fridge running or somethin'. Peace."

With that, Izzy did double finger guns and rapidly slid backwards on a carpet of snow, in a direction vaguely resembling northwards. She ducked just in time for a stray bottle to whiz over her head, barely missing her and setting fire to a number of hot dog stands, newspaper dispensers, and fallen billboards. Shortly thereafter followed an intensely badical sailing vessel of ghostacular proportions.

"So should we, like-"

[i][color=6ecff6]If we ignore them they'll probably go away[/color][/i]

Izzy shrugged.

"You're the boss, broseph."