And her heart makes a valiant stab at doing a backflip. Oh, thank god, a voice-- a friendly one, most importantly (though she'd be a petty liar to deny that it being his doesn't help)-- and luckily for Allen, that alone overwhelms her concern for the hoarse quality to it.

Uselessly, Lenalee casts a strained look around, running a hand shakily through her hair, before remembering herself; the frown returns and increases twofold. Fog. Fog everywhere. No buildings, no shadows, and nowhere for the source of the noises to hide. Just a heavy white cloak that seems to verge on suffocating at times.

"In-- fog," she says, haltingly, and it sounds as if she might yet come up on the point where that stops being nerve-wracking and becomes a ridiculous hassle instead. "The buildings are gone, I can't-- there's nothing to coordinate myself with!"