Alphonse keeps eyeing the white figures as discreetly as he can. He keeps his chalk in hand, idly rolling it between his fingers just in case. He can perform alchemy on whatever he wants as long as it isn't a living being, so practically anything within his arms length can be used to protect them if need be.

He listens to Marona, the word sticking in his mind more is 'fusionist' rather then 'phantom.' He's never put much stock in the supernatural. Any superstitions or strange occurrences he and his brother had ever faced was always able to be explained by alchemy or some other mundane means.

He tilts his head slightly, curious about Marona's sudden change of mood. "What's wrong?"