Oleander hums, a little skeptical. Ground cities are a luxury; he's only seen the surface of his home while in the spaceport. He wouldn't know to find it pleasant, as it kind of sucks.

"I have," he says, tucking the folded napkin somewhere into his robes. "I was born in an underwater city, and I have had enough of that routine. The sky seemed the furthest I could get from home." And he only panicked a little bit about not being in an hermetically sealed space, so he's doing great!