"You know, you'd make one fraggin' good morale officer," Thrust tells her, chuckling.

There, now this one has heard it, too, if under slightly more preferable circumstances. Because she's talking to the Vehicon infiltration forces (okay, okay, and also air strike and ground assault forces) general, here. He'd know. The closest they had was Jetstorm, and 'class clown' does not necessarily equal 'morale officer.'

"Only thing I can think of is lights, but holos were all over the place back home." He'd offer use of the van, but it's probably not clean enough to handle food-hauling, having handled horse-hauling for fifteen hundred miles. Thrust can't smell it, no, but he has picked up that humans need clean food. "Or... I dunno, banners?"