She kind of just-- makes an uncertain sound at that. Was she concerned for his physical health? No. Should she worry about people who jump off buildings? Maybe, but each to his own. "No," she decides on, a little like admission, before she tucks a hand into the pocket of her fur wrap. Again, she just sort of folds space around her so she is now positioned a little closer, more of a conversational distance.

This kind of easy lucidity is not wholly unfamiliar. It reminds her of the students of a telepath, who had helped teach them to guard their minds, to be aware of invaders. It, at least, makes conversation a little easier.

"I received something," she says, and takes out the little device in one hand, the charger in the other, easily recalled from recent memory, and any details she missed, well, she is here to see if the stranger whose mind she's currently in can make it realer, triggered into conjuration. "Is this yours?"