The change is a natural one, as dreams can be mercurial like this, but every reposition is felt, noted, makes her tense in turn, both disorienting as well as instilling in her the natural instinct to stabilise the world back to where it was, but manages, this time, not to do so. Her wardrobe doesn't change to suit-- because it's still really, really cold-- but her expression goes a little neutral, alert, and after a second, she rises to her feet. Awkwardly gripping, still, charger and machine, and she absently wraps the wire around the former.

Her movements are a little slower and she doesn't approach, this time, sort of how you don't approach dogs unaccustomed to friendly people. Head ducked, briefly, lank locks of brunette-black curtaining into her eyes, before its swept away again with a twitch of her head. "You weren't at the party," she continues on, although even in dream avatar, there is that note of optimistic intention. It's an obvious thing to say, but serves as explanation, maybe.

A glance, now, to where they happen to be, a relocation but one that isn't far. Unnatural, in the same fleeting impression of fire and smoke from before, there's a glimmering impression of spring time, the kind that comes with humid continental climates. It's rain and grass and procreating flora, and sun that glimmers of water into of the white blanket of snow.

"That other place was an accident. I've been apologising to more people than just you. Sorry," is added, realising she hasn't actually formerly said so.