"Figured by the lack'a lightin' besides torches n' fires that tech wasn't much of a thing here. Gonna take a minute t' be gettin' used to, not even havin' a phone to be callin' home or somethin' with." He rubs his hand down his face, looking off toward the bar, and its patrons with faces beset by gravity and age. The longer he's here, the less inviting this entire affair looks.

He realizes she's asked a question and turns back, leaning forward on the table with his arms crossed over one-another. "So y'know the kinda shit you can smoke what mellows you out, makes you kinda sleepy, makes you wanna eat everything in sight if you ain't distracted? Think that, but potent enough to put you in a coma for a couple'a hours. Used to grow it back home, wit' m' brother's help. Had a greenhouse just for growin' that, n' all kinds'a other strains for sellin'."