"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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just a picture of a cloud
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Johnny cleared his throat. It was dry, sandpapery - the early stages of a cold, if he was any judge, and Johnny fancied that he was. The early stages weren't so bad, Johnny thought. He'd probably miss the worst of it, and at this notion he gave a little chuckle.

"So, Ray, that was uhh... I mean that wasn't great, yeah?"

He'd aimed at reassuring, but to his ears the words stank of condescension. johnny backtracked a little.

"That situation, I mean. Back in that fucking hospital. The one we found ourselves in, y'know? Not how ya acted or anything, that was... shit, i dunno Ray. You play the hand you're dealt, right, an' I can't really see what we could've done different..."

This hadn't been where Johnny had meant to take things, insofar as Johnny ever meant to take things anywhere. His habit was simply to talk and to let his words wander where they might, but he'd opened his mouth now with a plan of sorts, to calm Raina, put her at ease, figure out their next move. Clearly, he wasn't doing great at it.

"That place sucked, okay? Those last three days sucked, this whole fucking... fucking thing, sucks, but whatever, right?"

He attempted a grin, his teeth like an antique piano that someone'd taken a sledge hammer to.

"Let's get the fuck out of here already."
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