[ She watches him with unveiled concern, and it shows through even with her hood shrouding half of her face. Bull doesn't need to verbally admit that he's frustrated; the roughness with which he moves and handles the things around him, the stiff silence before he finally responds are proof enough of that, for her. She doesn't know what's going on in his mind in that span, but it couldn't have been nice, and when he evades, she has half a mind to let it go. The information will come soon enough, but she wants to make sure he's okay. ]

Well, duh, smartass. [ said fondly, of course. ]

I'm just saying--you guys have a lot on your plate. And I can't imagine that you're not at least a little peeved about what's going on. You're the Iron Bull, sure, but even iron can crack.