That Will kept both hands to himself was something of a surprise; Sam had half-expected him to stop her, seeing something like a shimmer of intent in his aura, in and out of what was probably worry. She looked up from her handiwork to see Will staring at his healed knee, and offered a relieved smile when he looked to her---though it lasted only until he asked if she were a cleric, which surprising her into a soft, uncertain laugh. “No? You could maybe call me a witch, since that's close enough to the truth... but I'm not, like, a gingerbread house witch, or a 'I'll get you, my pretty,' witch. I'm more of a 'put the lime in the coconut,' witch. If you've maybe seen that movie.” With that, her smile returned, as crooked as it had ever been. She stood, brushing her knee off with her free hand; the other still held the scrap of bloodied skin. When Breakdown spoke up, she snorted.

“It's not that gross. And I deserve your asking that, but no.” She considered at the stubby strip in her hand; though it was still quite red, even in the poor light, it didn't look like much. “I'm... probably gonna burn it or run it through the first garburator I come across. Unless Will wants it back.”

She tilted her head, regarding the boy with some curiousity, but otherwise nearly neutral. “You don't, do you?”