Plourr's expression is currently warring between fond resignment, 'oh god,' and really, really amused.

"We never really had twelve in the squadron; we were always missing a few." She pauses, though, and squints at the mobile. "But there are thirt--" She stops again as she notices the craft that flies alongside Not-Rogue Eleven.

"Where did you get a blue-painted Headhunter model?" she asks, amusement toying with the corners of her lips.