She swings her legs over the edge of the lowered tailgate. And then, head canted to the side, she makes a small performance out of trying to recall the unforgettable array of items she'd found in 'her' room, as much as it can ever be called so.

"A bit of unidentifiable horn, a sachet of the most appalling powder I've ever tasted," Peggy takes a moment to better observe the stranger. He looks...not so well put together, she thinks. Except the bow keeps her piqued. Surely, no one merely chooses a bow. Except gunshots attract them. Whoever they are.

"And an umbrella. Tell me, have you peeked outside yet? Does it look likely to rain?"

Her words are bone-dry.