Last spark from the ashes

Bryn slows a little more to let him find whatever he's getting out of his pocket. She opens her mouth to speak, closes it again in confusion. For a minute there she thought he meant air-breathers in general, envisioning her future self just never taking that airtight helmet off. At this point it would fit with the hints and pieces she's gathered, of the kind of woman who keeps no normal clothes and won't even speak of anything beside her mission.

It's not a particularly reassuring image, so far. So there's a kind of relief for a moment, when Jesse's answer makes it about his condition and not her apparent destiny to seal herself away in a tin can.

"You don't...?" His ploy to buy time works pretty well, in fact. She latches right on to it, stopping dead and watching as Jesse lights up. The thing about smoking is it draws that bit more attention to a guy's breathing... or lack thereof. Bryn blinks, looking a little closer as comprehension dawns. Asking outright if he's dead still seems rude though. She hesitates long enough for him to drop another bombshell right on top of the first.

"Metal?" She doesn't get it. Looks at him, then Ghost. "Is that... some old slang?" People a hundred years back used to call things metal, right? She thinks it was a compliment, so that's... nice?

"No..." Ghost says cautiously, continuing when she doesn't seem to mind him interjecting any more. "It means normally you are, um, literally made of metal." Her expression changes as that starts to sink in: first a blink, then wide-eyed shock and a hard swallow... and then flat disbelief when the little bot presses on and explains, "You've been an artificial- well, a mechanical life form for as long as any of us has known you."