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Her little experience with the woman has taught her that she isn't alone even now, but Qingshe has - apparently - left Hannie at the barracks. She goes inside, trying not to let herself worry too much. Whatever the others are dealing with, they can handle it, she reassures herself - even as she feels that brief tremor in the ground under her - maybe that's from her team, after all. She doesn't know what they're all capable of.

It's all quiet here, empty. No voices, no other people. Her footsteps echo. What is she doing here, besides being safe?

Aching. Everywhere. She still doesn't know what Kirvella did, but evidently it was... exhausting, for a start. But also...
She looks out of the corner of her eye. That patch of singed and torn fabric in her coat. It doesn't hurt. If she doesn't look, if she doesn't touch, it might as well still be her own body.
[sup][i]-thing left of you but ice, child.[/i][/sup]

She shivers. She's not looking again. She knows it's there and that's too much. Never looking again.
Kirvella's never done that before.
She wants to go home. She wants to go home to mom and- and hide these from her. And not have Kirvella anymore. Just go back on everything. Can't she just go back to when she was too young to remember anything and she wasn't an Arms Master?
[color=7bcdc8]"-he's right on the beach at sector D1, if you haven't spotted him already,"[/color] says her radio.
She dabs at her eyes. She could be anywhere else in the world right now.

Ah, anyway...
Her wandering has taken her to the elevated viewing area of the auditorium. Looking down, it's impossible to see it as a theater anymore. It looks like an evacuation shelter from an apocalypse movie, with the bunk beds unevenly set around, the sandbag piles, the abandoned vendors. Oh - she checks her pockets. She still has her candy. Some. She must've dropped most of it.

She sits down and looks over the silent scene of chaos past with just a few pieces of hard mint candy for company. She's never been so alone in such a broad space before.
So comfortable, on such a solid wooden chair.
Over the course of just a minute, her thoughts slow and disperse into mist. She folds her arms close, lets her head fall to the side and rest on her shoulder. She blinks once, again, slower, and then doesn't reopen her eyes.
It's almost like death, but with less movement.
Hannie has had enough.