"You don't say..." She says, drily. Guy like this, he had to have a bunch of mods onboard; nobody got to be that tall naturally. His situation was probably no more complex than simply being here in the first place, "Look, I get it. I'm not exactly raring to go on taking out someone else's laundry for them, or whatever they have set up for greenhorns around here."

But what choice is there? Of course, there is a choice. She can say 'fuck it' to the lot of this, go sleep on a park bench, or raid Finnick's liqour closet, or whatever the hell else she wants to do. Nothing is making her stand here except a desire to feel like she's herself, once more.

"What about This one?" She says, after that moment of quiet perusal, "I'll admit, I'm not bringing a lot of fire to the fight right now, but I'm not afraid a few flying rats. You in?"