"Once in a blue moon," she shrugs. The blue moon happened to be every night, but Cordelia doesn't want to waste much time in relaying her resume to a man dressed up as if he's Robin Hood. "I take it you're used to stealing from the rich and giving to the poor who you can see —" Cordelia presses a hand to her temple as she feels her voice fade out. Closing her eyes — which is something she doesn't need to do anymore, but does so out of habit — she sees images that are becoming all too familiar. Isn't this vision a repeat?