A snarl rips up the side of Joan's face; she tamps down on it, trying to get her expression in control. She doesn't like showing tells, but she has a terrible poker face. "Don't- you don't even know me."

The idea of being liked is, apparently, more horrible than whatever the thing in front of her is becoming, is saying, the noises they make. After seeing Ianthe build walls from human fat, part flesh with her mind, order skeletons about like slaves-- this is fine.

"Voi. Okay, Voi. I'm Joan."

Joan doesn't know how to react to the person in front of her, but she decides they are a person. She reaches out to shake their hand because her father wouldn't.