Ellie frowns, following the fidgets of his fingers, watching the way he moves -- it's like her, when she's working through difficult thoughts, nervous or uncomfortable. He's grimy, yes, but it doesn't repulse her. She's seen and worn far, far worse. Been covered in worse for ages at a time.

"I guess I could see how you'd freak people out," she admits. "But most Rifters have seen enough freaky shit to be used to it by now."

She gives him a half-smile, thoughtful.

"You're feeling the Fade? Or hearing it? Does that make you a mage?"

That doesn't seem to bother her either.