As she finally loosens her grip, Queenie's glad for her coat, the wool a better barrier for the damp than the flimsy cotton beneath.

"We gotta get you inside, there's nothin' but soup for it if you catch a cold," she says as her gaze sweeps over the bedraggled picture of her sister. The brilliance of her smile fades a bit; she hadn't really thought much past simply having her sister here, but of course Tina's gonna want answers. Tina's the certified queen of answers.

"I got a house with a fireplace, so you can just plunk down in front of it and... well, I'll try to tell you what's goin' on, but I don't think you're gonna to like it much." Because if there's one thing Tina likes, it's when things make sense, and there's not a lick of sense in this whole place, in Queenie's opinion.

"Come on. I hate this fog," she adds, and squints out into the mist. "It always makes me feel like somebody's watching me."