[ She could posture and bitch at him and eventually he'd let her go just so he wouldn't have to deal with her anymore, but she thinks about how he'd probably saved her either from murdering Logan or getting killed herself and opts, instead, to sit heavily back in the chair. She's sore, and she's tired, and her nerves are still a jangling mess. Everything about the way she'd reacted disturbs her.

But this house is quiet, and she's just with March, which means she doesn't have to pretend shit if she doesn't want to. ]

Don't try to take him. He's got knives in his hands. Which seems excessive.

[ Which is maybe her way of saying I shouldn't have tried to take him, either<>/i>. She reaches for the water he gives her and makes a face, but sips at it anyway. ]

Yeah, well, it helps that you're taller than me, Stretch Armstrong.