"Yeah," she says, snapping her fingers. "Yeah, that's it. You're a drug doctor. That makes sense." He certainly doesn't put people at ease. It's a good thing he met her, not someone weak, someone who couldn't handle it. Maybe he's used to that, in the way he tried to butter her up. Probably he holds things together with freaky syringes while the other doctors talk to patients and make them comfortable. (Joan has no idea how medicine works.)

"How would you test it? You'd need to take my blood, right? Do you have any-" She makes a motion with her hands, two fingers out, a thumb curling in- "the things, syringes?"