Circe could not look more out of place. She's used to garments she's made herself, not just hand-sewn but spun and dyed, the yarn from wool she harvests from her own sheep. Literal centuries to herself on Aeaea have turned a necessity into a pleasant past time for her, and the clothes are the least of what she's left behind. She barely recognizes anything here.

That may be evident in how tensely she holds herself, standing nearby in her fresh-out-of-the-3D-printer standard attire. She waits politely for Tex to finish speaking into her radio nonetheless.

"May I trouble you for an explanation of what that device is? I am not familiar with it." There's a lot of adjusting she needs to get started on-- immediately.