Hana has half turned to look up at Sasha when the mothling's macabre magic trick catches her eye and she's staring at the sad, empty shell in her palm. There isn't even a stray bit of salt or breading anywhere. She's half expecting the mothling to burp.

"Holy shit," she intones gravely, looking between the shell and the mothling. "I mean - sorry, you're a kid, I shouldn't curse. Not you," she says to Sasha, "I was talking to the, shit." She goes from kneeling to sitting on the floor in a graceless hmph. "Those were just euphorics on the table, right? It's just supposed to help with mood, not fuck me up -- uh, sorry," she apologizes again to the mothling.

Hana takes a breath and does a quick mental assessment. She doesn't feel like she's tripping (not that she'd really know; she'd never used anything more exciting than cold medicine before her conscription into the Vidona). Silently she reaches for another shrimp puff and holds it out toward the mothling again.