[Alloran's fur is an interesting texture under her hands, and Stacia is rather pleased to have found an opportunity to touch it without treating Alloran like a resident of a petting zoo. He's less greasy than most of the wolves she's petted, though some of that may be his freshly-showered state. She hums in response to the rest of the story about his morphing allergies, because she's going to pull them further off-topic if she opens her mouth. A bio-weapon shaped like a tree, huh?

Then he sighs and explains what he's been dancing around and oh. That certainly explains why the idea horrifies him. She almost drops the brush.]

Oh! Oh, oh no, we have a way to dig the information we need out of his head already! I mean, thank you for volunteering the information, I can see why you wouldn't want to, but we're not so desperate that we'd need you to do that.

[Not so desperate yet, at any rate. And the very fact that she's even thinking that absolutely means that she's a bad person; but...someone has to be. Someone already has that capacity, and it may as well be her.]