Degas pauses in confusion, bushy eyebrows a brief cowl over his eyes. "You haven't? Strange. And I haven't heard of this Iron Man."

He goes silent again, carefully watching the young woman and her mannerisms. She certainly is chatty, nervous. Much like his son who liked to talk out problems. That much was familiar, at least.

"I wouldn't worry, village or town, it's still all the same." His speech is methodical, slow but not drawn out, hopefully calming. Her last comment doesn't change that in the slightest either. "Ms. Beatrix, it sounds as if you've been through quite a time. If it won't trouble you too much, how did you cross the sea? No one's managed it for the last few years."