Joan winces. She doesn't want to. She wants to tell him she doesn't want to, that she's ill suited for this task, that she's a horrible communicator who doesn't get along in groups. She would, if the appeal of him giving her a task didn't outshine her hesitation. It's almost like she's important. It's almost like she has a purpose.

She's so fucking stupid, she could cry. Instead, she stalls. She isn't going to survive, if she lets his light shrivel her up like a raisin.

"And in return for having to fucking network with people who hate your guts, Joan, I'm prepared to give you..." She gives him a significant look.