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They need to move, she knows.
She can't bring herself to get up.
It's the morning after their harried flight from the King's Cage. They made it back to Bazzoxan, just about.
She's still sat above the Ready Room when Caleb comes to check on her. She knows it's Caleb, because Frumpkin settles on her lap and headbutts her worriedly. She strokes him, absently.
"Am I a terrible person?" She asks him, when he gets up the stairs. She doesn't turn around from where she's perched on the windowsill, looking out at Bazzoxan and the Barbed Fields beyond it.
She can practically feel Caleb running through the dialogue options available to him as he settles at her side from the floor underneath the window. "... You are ein arschloch, Beauregard," he offers, warily, "same as the rest of us."
She shakes her head. Likely pets Frumpkin a little too hard, who is kind enough to put up with it while she gathers her thoughts. "I was... relieved," she whispers into his fur. "When Yasha got taken. I was relieved that he-" her voice cracks slightly with the tears she's tried so hard to keep at bay.
"Ah," Caleb breathes. "We are fucked up people, du und ich," he sighs. "I... thought much the same," he admits. "Mollymauk-" His breath shudders, and she knows that he hasn't properly cried about him either.
"Mollymauk," he repeats, a bit steadier, "would not have wanted us to beat ourselves up because we are glad that he did not have to see what happened to Yasha."
She finally turns to look at him. "Do you really believe that?" She whispers, cradling his cat to her chest.
He swallows. "I have to," he admits, "because otherwise I will never stop. It is hard enough to leave places better than we found it," his smile is slight, and wobbly, but he's making an effort so Beau does too.
"We should go downstairs," she sighs, eying Frumpkin and his wizard speculatively. She could totally wear his cat as a scarf all day and Caleb would probably let her, after the shitshow that was yesterday.
Oh. Hang on.
She slaps her face a bit. "Do I look like I was crying?" She interrogates.
Caleb eyes her doubtfully. "Nein," he supplies, "but you do look as though you picked a fight with the stairs and gravity won."
"Good enough," she decides. "Let's go."