Booker glanced sideways, blinked, then grinned warmly, if a touch warily, at the friendly greeting. "Thanks. I was at home, then here. " His gaze scanned across her, judging on strength, seeming danger, and phasedness, and passed back to the window, with more of his attention on her, nonetheless.

His feet shifted slightly, more toward her, an old habit of both how he was raised and of being a fighter for a long time.

He finally did turn, and nod to her. He'd have given her a bow, if he wasn't, you know, unsure of his towel would stay. Not that he really gave a damn, but people got so spooked about nudity in the modern ages he'd been abducted to.

"I reckon I might need some assistance toward the closest clothing rack. Don't want to offend the natives. He has something between a Northeastern and a western accent, which is to say, a confused mess of drawling and fast words.