"Thank yew, stick around," she gleefully declares to anybody listening, "I might be leaf-ing, but ya can branch out, the area could be acorn-ocupoia of things that'll sprout up."


Bad puns. She is mean. "Imma squirrel away now, be nutty someplace I don't know where," she bows with a laugh.


"Oh Sarah," she cheerfully says as she returns, "It sounds profound though, yes? Because all Latin sounds profund." She provide the translation.


"Eyepatches and hats could be easy to scrounge up," she helpfully adds. "Peg legs? Hook hands? I am not chopping of my limbs, someone else can volunteer," the is joking. Probably. Hopefully. "If we are going to go party hardy Sarah," she sighs, "I am not ditching my car, so few drinks for me."


Responsibilty? Oh, no no no. Not Circe. "Oh ho ho ho, I will encourage drunken antics from all of you," she spread her arms wide, "Aaaand film it," Circe winks.


It would be amusing to her. Right up there with telling college kids on Monday that they HAD met her on Saturday but were too drunk to remember. It really shouldn't work as often as it does. "I'll laugh now and in the morning, oh ho ho ho!"