"And if it can't," Irene suggested, one hand shading her eyes so she could still watch that spot where the pumpkin had splashed, just in case tentacles emerged from the surface (and, again, because she was pretty delighted with all of this, anyway), "we'll just adjust, right?"

Nothing wrong with fine-tuning one's approach every now and then. Just saying. It was scientific, whether it was trebuchets and concrete pumpkins, or...you know, blacksmiths and gardening books.

"Those concrete ones really aren't fucking around, though," she noted, eyeing said concrete gourds with interest. "Almost like cannonballs or something, I'd bet."