[ Luckily her roommates are kind indeed... What she does immediately in response is call the fellow up. Because she doesn't have hands, Camulus. Or eyes. Without so much as a greeting, the voice that launches is as curt as it is cutting. ]

Tell me, Camulus, do you enjoy making things woefully difficult for yourself and for those around you, or is it some kind of compulsion? Some sort of manic obsession, a nervous tic, a witch's curse? Is there a sieve lodged into your skull where your brain should be? I have to know, or I fear I shall finally go mad myself in my attempts to comprehend it.

[ On top of his... faux pas... as addressed, even if it was by no fault of theirs, they didn't exactly leave on the most pleasant of terms. ]