"Bethany has...her charms," Kira points out, neither convincing nor convinced as he watches her butt the edge of the door now that the snow is safely held behind it. A pulse and a face are, in his book, enough to avoid ritual sacrifice.

Which puts Ravi in the safe zone, watching his screw up and turn away. "I've had exactly little enough coffee for this conversation, maybe if you dig some out of the kitchen I'll stop." No promises, considering probably cabin fever and a dogged lack of subject boundaries in the face of—whatever you call never being friends with someone in the first place, arriving in a big fuckoff canyon, and being informed that another you was trotting around having all kinds of relationships without your knowing.

Aggressive oddballing is all he has, this side of the impossible. "How long do they usually pin us down with anything," he asks, genuinely wanting to know. "Actual cannibalism lengths or just, long enough to make us wonder if it'll get to that point?"