"Unusual." She murmurs watching out over the sea. She can smell the salt and the water. The soft splash of a fish reaches her ears. If she can catch it, that'll be tomorrow's dinner.

Brigid thinks about how to answer his question. "My kind have a tendency to be insular and removed in certain aspects. Nothing too blatant - we aren't weirdo survivalists or anything like that - but enough that sometimes it's looked at a bit differently." She shrugs, her bomber jacket creaking softly. "It would be a sign that there were my kind in your world, that's all."