[For once she's actually outside, perched on a seat she's dragged out of the house to be in the shade of the open garage door since Quinn's filled the garage with his equipment, a folding card table at her side with a dozen different tubes of paint and a canvas propped up on a jury-rigged monstrosity in place of an easel.

She pauses in the middle of painting some twistedly nightmarish landscape, looking at him in a way that seemed like she was studying him. She huffs softly, her ears twitching forward.]

You know, I think you remind me of someone I've seen around town. You've got the same kind of smell to you. Must be from the same place.