( so he doesn't know what the rules are either. she's grateful, at least, for that. in a city where the answers seem to be obscured, everyone seems to be — if it's possible to be — just about as messed up and confused as skye feels. which is, if nothing else, a small consolation prize. nobody thus far has given her any real answers, anyway, which makes her feel a little bit better about not having a fucking clue most days of the week.

like now, with the seemingly mission critical lantern mix-up. which is important, too, since mourning seems to be a collective thing here. more so than in the almost sterile world of the bus, anyway. there, everyone around her had been so much better at compartmentalizing and containing and generally Dealing With Shit. it's kind of nice to not be the only confused person in a literal or metaphorical room every now and again. )

Yeah, I kind of got the vibe that full explanations aren't exactly a thing here.

( which isn't his fault, by any means, so there's no real bitterness to her tone. instead, it's punctuated by a quiet, almost sardonic laugh that just barely passes for genuine; after a moment, skye shakes her head and tucks her pen into her back pocket for safekeeping. )

So. ( she could sit here and continue to dwell on all the reasons she decided to etch out her recent life story... or she could not do that. guess which option skye chooses? ) Want to swap sad stories, or... is that too much for a first date?

( she's kidding. unless, you know. he wants it to be. )