"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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Violent-Medic
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Keith seemed decent enough. Hell, if Ty was vouching for him almost a week in there had to be something good.

“Well, uh… cool. Thanks for, y’know… looking out for him and stuff.” Clarice tried smiling at Keith, although it came out as that polite not-quite-smile that people sometimes did when passing each other on the street.

And now that they’d jumped the ‘glad you’re not dead, sad about everything else’ hurdle, Clarice had no idea what to say next. Which wouldn’t be a problem if this was just their everyday lives. It’d be a little awkward nod, maybe a bit of fumbling for a topic.

But there was always that sense that time was running out. That there wasn’t time for it. Like there was something Clarice could be doing, even if realistically she had no ideas. Even though she’d wasted the last two days barely talking to anyone.

But, shit. Right. She did have a goal, if only a short-term one.

She thumped Ty on the back once before letting go of him, looking past him and Keith. As if South would be at the end of the corridor, just waiting. But nothing was ever that easy. The loss of Ty’s weight caused a slight wobble. Her vision sliding a little before realising she was still on her feet and snapping back into place. Disconcerting, but ultimately harmless. Clarice put her hands out for a moment, blinking as the dizziness passed, before lowering her hands again.

“Have you—“ Clarice cut off, her mouth not wanting to function with so little liquid. She shut it for a moment, trying to find enough spit to work with. “...You seen Scout? Short. Orange hair. Usually looks grumpy.”
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