[ Qubit nods, quietly pleased. He could hear some familiar cynicism starting to creep in at the edges there, and the fact that Carlisle caught it himself is not lost on him. As glad as he is to hear that, though, he's equally pleased by what he doesn't hear - he'd half-expected the next line to be a sarcastic, "Cool, good to know I don't have to wander off into the trackless wastes," or something along those lines. Granted, there's been less of that kind of talk ever since Qubit started answering it with, "Well, then I'd have no choice but to go after you," but - progress is progress. ]

[ He shrugs, letting Carlisle pass him through the doorway. ] Uncertain, sure, but frankly? I think you could go quite a while. I mean, you're already a smaller draw on Anchor's resources than any living resident.

[ He's about to elaborate on that, but as he follows his friend inside, he notices he's left all his hair-care paraphernalia out on the counter. How mildly embarrassing... ]

Oh - sorry about the mess.

[ He edges past Carlisle and starts putting it up. It's an odd array of stuff, for someone who's never seen it before. Mysterious canisters of varying shapes and sizes, and a couple of devices plugged into the wall outlet - one vaguely pistol-shaped, the other a perforated metallic cylinder bristling with menacing black... bristles. A handful of context clues may hint at their purpose, though - most notably, the small collection of conventional combs and brushes resting on the counter among them. ]