Scarlet shrugged at Babble's polite refusal. It wasn't as though she'd actually expected him to go for it. Harboring similar sentiments towards cigarettes and gum meant the items held little use to her for their intended purpose, but Scarlet was an intelligent, resourceful woman. Perhaps she might have use for some sticky binding or a water-resistant cardboard scrap or some slow-burning fuse later, and these atrocities could be put to better use. Slipping the items back into her pocket, Scarlet's focus returned to the building at hand.
“I-it seems that the people inside are starting to leave. We could stay hidden back here and wait for them to leave or we c-could move away before they have a chance to see us and continue through the forest. What d-do you think we should do?”
'People'. Objectively, a neutral term. In no other situation would Scarlet have felt the shiver that coursed down her spine as it did in this moment at the mention of 'people' leaving. But given what she had gone through since regaining consciousness, 'people' could mean any number of awful, wonderful things. Food. Shelter. Companionship. Purpose. Death.
Why did Scarlet feel like Babble was leading her through a 'choose your own adventure' book with all the happy endings torn out? Weighing the pros and cons effectively ended in a tie, and Scarlet mentally flipped a coin.
“Let's wait. Either they'll be friendly and we can join them, or they'll leave and perhaps we can forage. We need... supplies, I think. Food. A scalpel. Matches. Water.”
Maybe some clean clothes, too. Scarlet bent down to scratch at her leg where dried blood made her scrub pants cling to her in a most disturbing way.
As much as Scarlet desperately wanted to be not here, she also couldn't really name a single place she actually wanted to be, other than her old hospital. When had it become 'old'? It seemed like she was there only hours ago. How long had she even been here? Given her final few memories about her last day on the job, Scarlet very much doubted her old job would want her anywhere near the building.
If it even still existed. If she wasn't in Hell already. They were surviving, now, they were as safe as they could be, and in very little danger of being overheard. At least, so she surmised. And with a plan of 'waiting' now in place, it wasn't like they were pressed for time or brain power. The tidal wave of curiosity threatened to drown her now that she had space to breathe.
“What month and year is it? Do you know how long I was in there, or why?”