She looked him over with the sort of cold scrutiny she reserved for any potential dissidents Miranda would slough off on her to deal with.

Finding nothing that could be immediately criticized, she gave a haughty sniff, as close to satisfied as circumstances permitted.

"Well, you have your wits and manners about you at least," she remarks, and she casts an irritated glare to the general kerfuffle of new arrivals.

"Answers, however, are in short supply. All I've heard so far is nonsense about another reality."

If she had much belief in the afterlife, she'd hazard another guess. But if that were the case, they'd have left her small, sick, and powerless.

"And there is some manner of festival afoot," she scoffs, inclining her head towards the festivities.