Truly, her analysis took little insight beyond familiarity with his sort. Their sort, maybe--Poe had travelled with a rhyme and reason, across Canada and over the Atlantic, but her wanderlust kept her lingering, led her farther, and made her happy. And, in its own way, kept her in the city, away from the razor-nailed grip a pack would entail, or so she preceived.
She found herself distinctly flattered when he turned the comment around to her. Her routine in the city, her chasing ghosts, her drawn out solitude in the last number of months had made her doubt her own nature, one that she had previously believed as accomplishing anything except settling into monotony. The confirmation that her travelling spirit had not yet faded from sight was enough to bring a wide, cheeky smile on her face, true enough to give light into her eyes. "That's good to hear. I would hate to be a stiff-legged homebody, you know," she said sagely, only briefly quelling that contented smile, only to soon be distracted by the clear case Laurel had been investigating before she interrupted. Looking down into its contents, she asked, "So what was it that you were so gracefully looting before I arrived?"
