And there he is! Greta offers him the sheepish smile of someone enjoying the temporary camaraderie while it lasts. His accent is familiar, but he could be a Prince for all she knows. Best not to get too familiar. But then he's extending a hand, and there's nothing for her to do but take it and help pull him out of the bag and up to his feet, and--

… Oh.

Greta stares at the unmistakable bulge of his stomach in open astonishment. But he--he is a he, isn't he? Her gaze flickers back up to his face before it's drawn inexorably down again, and she shuts her gaping mouth with a self-conscious snap. "Um." She blinks, turning her head a little, as if it will make more sense if she looks at it sidelong. It doesn't. "I, er…" she attempts before trailing off. It doesn't even occur to her to let go of his hand.