If he's looking for the usual eloquence - it's slow to come. Just a slow snaking of her tail back and forth, drawing idle sweeps of the dirt, staining her white fur. Her claws resting on her lip, holding him in haze, dark and seeing him, but not at all.

Pandora got under the skin in so many ways. But there is a comfortableness to her madness, to be this, boundless and without restraint. Perhaps it got to her in the same way. Had to, maybe, some proof of all the things she'd seen and done. But her laugher is sweet, low in her throat.

"A Vault Hunter would know."