At the mention of people who are dead, there's a shift. It's a tiny one. But her gaze goes a little brittle for a moment, the slow sway of the bottle in her hand stilling. What if she...

No. Better to not. No need to start digging open wounds that had scarred over just fine.

"...huh. Sounds like everyone else dumping their baggage on your doorstep," she finally utters after a moment, relaxing like nothing at all had happened. She did, however, take another stiff swig. "The whole line of them."

No mention of the machine, because after all, weirdness. He probably knew it already.