The noise that escapes his throat then is on a pitch and frequency typically heard only deep within the ocean, among pods of whales. Gaping at Nancy, he tries to think of a clever response but draws a total blank. Honestly, the very idea of it grosses him out, but at the same time, he's weirdly flattered even if she's just making an offhand play on words. Maybe he would be great at tossing salads. Maybe that's like his undiscovered talent.

Slowly, he sits down. Stiles' brain has short circuited. Please try again later.