[she gives him a wry grin, not fooled for a minute—strikethrough or no, she can still see through him just as well as she could eighty years ago. She brushes off her jumpsuit, then sets about picking leaves and small twigs out from where they've lodged in her clothes and mechanical bits. She makes a face and mutters as she extracts a twig from in-between a couple wires attached to her head:]
Eurgh. Trees. Never understood why some people are so enamored with the bloody things.