Isabelle looks down at the grass beneath her boots, frowning. She'd noticed before, of course, that her clothes were not her own, but now she actually has longer than half a second to consider it. The plan scrubs on her body are a bright magenta color, and her feet are laced into sturdy hiking boots. Now that she thinks about it, none of the other clothes in the pack slung across her shoulders were her's, either.

That means somebody's undressed and redressed her, not only physically stripping her, but stripping her of her weapons as well. She feels terribly, awfully violated, and she has to swallow down a lump in her throat.

She doesn't come any closer, but she doesn't look quite as ready to attack as before. Her shoulders relax, a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding leaves her body slowly. He doesn't seem interested in fighting either, and the way he says we implies that he's apart of the same boat she is.

"Have you seen a tall guy, black hair, bad attitude? Or a self-centered blond guy or a short redheaded girl? I need to find my friends and get home."