"I'm not screaming - I'm shouting! There's a bloody difference," she corrected this 'Harry' firmly. Such a common name that she didn't think anything of it, honestly. Her steps were cautious on the stone, keeping a hand on the center railing just in case. He looked real enough, whoever he was.
"Glenda Chittock," she went from Bristol to her radio voice, knowing people recognized that more, "I don't know what's going on but I truly don't appreciate whatever this silly prank is." Or kidnapping. Or... bad ham. Whatever it was. She was pissed off and if this scruffy... child (alright, he was clearly grown but that was beside the point) didn't have any answers... Well, she didn't know what she was going to do just yet. Punch someone probably.