[ She's collecting mushrooms, weird mosses, questionable-looking slime molds. All things that probably have their place in some sort of medical sense, but Len has also eaten his fair share of fucked-up fungi from mysterious caves and knows for a fact that some can kill, and some can make you think you're seeing God. Whatever she's gathering them for it's either going to make them all hallucinate their insides on their outsides or poison them.

Henry is practically swelling with bitterness next to him, brow tight and gaze intent, a cultivated and controlled steeliness in his long limbs and severe mien. He talks like he's comfortable making suggestions that appeal to baser instinct and Len snorts at what he can only read as a less than surreptitious nudge.

Idly, he wonders what the man did back home. ]

You don't have to convince me, slick. I'm as keen as anyone else to get the fuck out of here. We go over for a little- ah, chat, though, and I'm gonna need you to put on a friendlier face. Can't scare 'em away immediately.