[b]Lynn[/b]

The girl was small, but even small was bigger than Lynn. Lynn looked up at her, a brief moment of empathy warming her features from titanium to mere granite. Lynn soaked in her details unconsciously, as she did with so many things. Growing up, not being able to recognize the same face twice walking down the street outside your house or not noticing who was throwing side glances at you in lock-up meant someone had the leg up on you. If there was anything about this girl that could give Lynn an edge - or even an idea of truth - she wanted to know. She spoke with an accent - Scottish or Irish or some shit, Lynn couldn't tell - and seemed weak. Tired.

Lynn wanted to believe her.

She stared at her, listening to her words. What they have upstairs? Lynn had no idea what to make of that, wishing for the third time in a minute she'd been born with Keaton's brain instead of her own broken one. Even so, this - [i]this[/i] more than having to talk at parties and make sense of who was following her and keep track of how friendly she and Keaton seemed in public and what to make of everything she felt and didn't feel when she saw Farm Boy or Spoons - this made sense to her. It was just her sniffing out bullshit, and an ass-beating - Lynn's or Olivia Twist's - results-dependent. Lynn stared at her, loosening up a bit without realizing. She wasn't going to hurt her if she wasn't sure. Was she? 

[i]You weren't sure about Salamandra and you - 
four people -
just a bottle, one little toss -[/i]

She was young. As young as Lynn. Maybe a touch older. Prettier. They all were. Lynn privately wondered if Amelia had gotten while the getting was good, and if Eli had done the same. She thought that maybe the latter of the two would stay, but probably not. It was her in the dark. Behind Arianna, a half dozen yards or so, Lynn thought she saw movement, but supposed it was a trick of the light. Lynn was not quite seeing double - she was sobering up, and fast - but she was still seeing reality a little fuzzier than it truly was. The girl looked hungry. Thin. She was little, like Lynn. Like a little sister, even if she was bigger. She didn't - she wasn't. Salamandra was because she had to, and those four - they were just there, and the people in the houses - but this was different. She couldn't...

Lynn stayed tense - even if this girl was on the level, there was a real good chance someone - or multiple someones - with a badge were going to come through here, and put a bullet in either or both of them for seeing too much. There wasn't much time to make things up. Lynn let her eyes fall to the girl's pants. [i]What had Amelia said? Shovels?[/i] This girl certainly wasn't carrying one. And she was too small to be really using one. Strong? Like Natalie? Lynn wasn't sure. She stared at her a moment longer. If they tried to take her after the breakout, she was certainly capable of protecting herself. Why did she have a shovel out here anyway? Unless - 

The washed-up corpse.

The breakout.

The woods.

The doll.

Keaton.

If Lynn had been a few decimal points' more drunkenness in her blood, she might not have remembered. She might not have bit back the smile. "I won't let them take you," Lynn said, watching her closely. She moved a step nearer to the girl, close enough that Lynn could lunge and grab her if she had to - Lynn supposed that the same was true, if not more true, for this girl. She certainly looked sober, and Lynn didn't count on her reflexes being as sharp as they should be. This girl grabbing her first was perfectly fine by her. As it was, she had her arms crossed - the second it took to uncross them might even things. Might not. She might be fast. She might be strong. She might get in Lynn's head. [i]She'll have plenty of fuckin' company in there, at least.[/i] "We can't stay here." Lynn realized very suddenly she had not had any sort of idea of how to get back to the party, or even what direction went back to the facilities in the Promise. This was deeper into a forest than she had ever been in her lifetime, and Lynn had only one solution for finding a trail in a forest, and it was likely to incur significantly more costs than her job at [i]Vaquero[/i] could cover.

"I was one too," Lynn said, pulling back her sleeve, showing off the crude prison tattoos she bore. "No names. It's safer. Cara might be listening," she said, "And she can tell names. But tell me - what was your number?" Lynn dropped her sleeve back down. "Your inmate number here." If she got it right, Lynn would hear her out. If not, there were graves.