"Grafted," she echoes. It was deliberate, then. The claws, no, but the metal. Grafted to his... claws? Hands? That's all she knows for now, the metal claws. The rest will come.

Later, it seems. She takes the suggestion of a drink as a sign to change the subject for the time being. She nods. "If you want one, sure. I remember where the bar is."

She withdraws her hand from his claws, but rather than let it drop directly to her side, she reaches up and touches his cheek lightly. It's a shock, certainly. Something unexpected to process, to try to understand.

But nothing's changed.