Strolling up after Will, the skin-witch stopped at a comfortable distance; she'd didn't want his mother to feel crowded, not while she was worked up. She offered “'M Sam,” when the other woman looked her way, but didn't hover, instead busying herself pulling the thin cardboard cozy off the coffee cup she'd all but forgotten before. She tore it in half to have a pocketable piece, and patted at her pockets. As always (or almost always--she lost it about as often as her debit card) she had the stub of an eyeliner pencil on her, and it was with it she scribbled out her address, before glancing over to see how Will was handling the interrogation. Sure, she could hear every word, but that wasn't the same.