She blinks slowly and wishes for a cigarette for the umpteenth time. "Yeah. Don't matter, though. You're probably better off for not seeing it." And he'll make fewer annoying jokes, if he's even capable of making jokes.

Deirdre shakes a hand through her hair, still thrumming with angry, nervous energy. Best to conserve that- sit by the fire, Alfred has the right idea- but she still keeps manically humming along. "Do you really think we'll die out here?" she says as if she's asking if it'll rain tomorrow.