Santana stays silent, not because she has been rendered speehless but because she is waiting for the punchline. After what feels like a long stretch but may, to someone who isn't working up to a nice high, seem like only a minute or so, she sits up. In the faded light, it's hard to tell, but Wichita doesn't seem to be pulling her leg. Why would she? It's not even all that funny a joke. The expression she wears now isn't entirely suspicious, but not trusting either; what it is, is almost sympathetic. "So you're, you're one of those people who die and came here?"