The reaction gives Gerry a laugh, which escapes from his smirking mouth as a soft breath. He makes no remark, just offering her a paper from his yet to be tied stack.

"Town hall pays for 'em. They're the easiest way to get safety updates. Y'know, for the monsters or whatever."

His own eyes are a pale grey, like polished steel or a sky before rain breaks. But in certain light, they have sort of an electric green iridescence to them that cuts to the heart of whatever he's looking at, making it impossible to avoid the pervasive feeling of being seen. This sensation is not helped by all the eyes tattooed onto him. Every single knuckle, his wrists, even his throat. The only tattoo that isn't an eye is the pumpkin leaf poking out of his sleeve, connected to a vine that runs under the fabric and ostensibly up his arm.

There is a fire in her. A fire that has eaten up so much of her life. Gerry can see the scorch marks that others can't. There are also distorted faces crawling over her skin and bullet holes chewing at her heart, a fog of isolation behind the eyes, a trace of web in the hair, but those burn wounds scar her deep. What has she lost? What potential has burned away? What violence has been wrought upon her?

He says nothing on the matter.

"So! What fun adventures did you get dragged out of to be here?"