Taisce had nicer handwriting than Ellie's. For a moment she simply watched and listened -- multiple uses, chatting, busy is good -- and then smiled again, starting to empty the box of its contents. "I think it is," she said honestly. "For me, at least. If I don't stay busy, I think entirely too much, and it's never about very useful things."
"What do I do?" She repeated, turning a dusty book over in her hands. It looked to be about team-building exercises; in the context of Ellie's life recently, this was worthy of a smile. "Lots of things. I work... I work in the greenhouse. I experiment in the Death Chamber. I go out into... Into Ossining and gather things. Sometimes they're useful... Sometimes they're not." She paused to thumb through the book, which emitted noticeable clouds of dust. "I take care of Dog, and sometimes O'Brien, and sometimes my other friends."
She looked at Taisce, expression level. "What do you do?"