(Oh, it's really nice though. Just a little acknowledgement of her being there. Lucretia puts out a little thread of herself, stretching it outside the confines of the splinter and touching his finger with it when he squeezes the wood, but she's not going to tell him she did that and who knows if he would ever notice otherwise.)

It's Lucretia, (she says after a beat, clearing her throat.) But okay. I cannot promise I'll duck if I see a fist though, because there's really no need– I mean, it will just go right through me. So you're on your own, there.

I'm down, though. Where is your bus?

(It feels like they've been travelling so far... in reality, they've been walking for about five minutes, but to Lucretia it feels like an eternity. She can't feel a single inch of the house any more. They have truly left it behind.)