"But…" Greta trails off, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand for a moment. This isn't the easiest thing in the world for her to get her head around. "So you… you travel through time," she begins, the well-worn phrase carrying none of its usual, implicit familiarity when she says it. It's a wholly foreign concept to her. "So you can tell people stories about… about murderers. That… that… is your job."

She still has no idea how that's possible, let alone an occupation. "I don't suppose we could sit for a minute," she asks, sounding just a bit strained. To be fair, it's hot out and they've been hustling along for a few minutes in an attempt to evade one of his--his subjects, she supposes. Is he even still following them? She's slightly concerned that if she turns to look, she'll fall right over.