"I know. This is not my first reality shift. God knows, life was weird enough back home." Booker stretched, careful of the towel but still uncaring, really, of what was seen. He eyed her, and smiled slowly, nodding. She seemed a fighter, and smart, and possibly what he needed to lead him to not be lost here.

He came closer, a touch more, and watched her as he spoke. "I'd appreciate it, ma'am. I'm called Booker DeWitt." He met her hand with his own, and arched an eyebrow. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Barlow." His hand was strong, and firm, calloused from guns, and knives, and from more conventional tools, and scarred, on the back, with an AD branded in, vivid and clear.