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Being a degenerate is okay these days
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Any reply Cristóbal might have had was cut off by Abby closing the distance between them and proceeding to crush all the air out of his lungs. He couldn't say he particularly minded; he was, in fact, hugging her back just as tightly.

"Yeah, I'm-" Fine? Was he fine, really? Could anyone truthfully say they were fine and everything was alright here?

Probably not. But whether it was objectively truthful or not didn't matter.

"I'm fine. As long as you are too." There was more to say but he didn't know how. A conversation for another time, then, when they were less disoriented and frightened, when emotions weren't running so high and people could say anything that they didn't quite mean.

Cristo moved back from Abby just a step to look at Tara, but she'd gone. She must have not wanted to impose on their reunion, or maybe she thought Abby might be threatening, mind-boggling as that was. Either way, she'd slipped off silently when he wasn't paying attention.

"Um- Tara was here, but it looks like she left. She was looking for supplies." Enough of an explanation to hopefully put Abby at ease and reassure her that neither of them had been in danger, if they could truly be said to ever not be in danger while they were in this madhouse.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Prepare to Burn · The Warehouse