"Oh, right, you said you didn't see him. I think if he brought you back to life that counts as hands-on, though."

It's a question that under a lot of circumstances, she'd answer with a smirk and a breezy one-liner, maybe some innuendo about taking things into her hands. But it gives her a moment's pause, this time. Is being depressed and lonely and guilty enough to ask strangers to fuck you so you forget about what a failure you feel the stance of someone who is "capable" or "working out"?

"Reckon I do okay, sometimes," she says, rather quiet. "And when it does go tits up, at least I know who to blame."