Oh, great. Of course she's a fucking maniac. Once he figures out how to reverse this bullshit, he'll be sure to ask if she usually feels threatened by things six inches tall.

Not that he's not a threat. ... Well. Maybe he's not. His weapons shrunk right along with his armor. How much damage could he cause like this? Better to avoid testing it.

So, Felix lets that threat roll off of his tiny shoulders and keeps the conversation focused on her armor.

"I'm serious. That looks like something straight out of the Great War. What year is that? '50?"