"You make it sound like we're on fucking Gilligan's Island." Deirdre rolls her eyes as she sits down beside him, keeping a healthy distance. "They'll find us soon. We're probably only a stone's throw from some resort, anyway." She quirks an eyebrow and smirks.

Deirdre studies Arthur openly. Something definitely went wrong with him, hence the unpleasantness, but she ought to be nice for better reasons than learning how to strike rocks together. She ought to. As it stands, she refrains from commenting on how much more damage a coconut to the head would do.

"No survival skills here. I've got nothing," she says with a resigned shrug. "'Side from the fact that I'm sure as fuck not dying out here, nor watching anybody else die." She's seen enough death to last her a long, full lifetime.