Karen's eyelashes are damp when she opens them again, and she instinctively dabs at the corners of her eyes with the back of a hastily-lifted finger. The wetness of her new company strikes her first, confusion flickering across her expression before the familiarity of the face clicks. She doesn't know this woman, but she's seen her, hair floating dreamlike around her angled face, dark lashes resting content over pale cheeks.

"No, not really," Karen replies, and then croaks out a laugh. "Probably worse for you right now, though."

Coming out of the fountain, twice, had been bad enough. Karen can't imagine being spit out of one of those tubes, in the midst of all this chaos.