Claire's boots scuffed to an awkward stop. She stared at him, blinking... as if running his words through her head seventeen more times would force them to make sense.
"You're...not sure."
Nope. Saying them out loud didn't help either. Claire's hands found her hips- she sighed hard enough to drop her shoulders with the effort, dislodging her hair from it's drape across her shoulder, revealing the top half of a very specific pentacle tattoo, right above the neckline of her tank. The calf-dusting hooded cardigan she wore shifted when her hand inched closer to the hilted angel blade, hidden by the fabric. Hopefully, intimidation wasn't going to be needed.
"Dude. Think you could be just a little more specific? One minute I'm in a Talahassee pitstop bathroom- now I'm here. I feel like I'm in a fuckin' fever dream."