The cloak is pumping out less heat now, but it's slowly changing color, with mottled and softly expanding patches tinging paler and glinting a little against the light.

Tess has a firm (but not uncomfortably so) grip. "Tennessee Lee, atcher service." She does have a weapon, it would seem--a funny-looking thing halfway between a sidearm and a longarm sitting on her hip, all in bright matte colors--but she's given it no attention.