Sawyer quickly got to his feet, shrugging on a pair of jeans that hung lowly around his hips— he probably needed a belt, but the clothes box hadn't seen fit to be the kindest to him as of late, never giving him anything quite appropriate for the weather. Stumbling on over, he clapped a hand on Hurley's shoulder, just a little gesture he used much of the time, partially to remind himself that his friend was indeed on the island, solid, not some type of island-borne hallucination. "Didn't you get the memo?" he said, brow raising and tone mocking, more of the island system than of Hurley himself. "Here, flowers're currency and we trade in hippie volunteer hour credits."

But as much as he would have liked going on making fun of Hugo at every turn, the noise from the common room had evolved into some sort of high-pitched whine and wuffles, Sawyer's entire body immediately tensing as he peeked around Hurley, even took a step out. Almost like he was going to brave it, before he decided better and whirled right back around.

"And hell, that ain't even worth a dollar!"