"Stupid," She laughs, shaking her head. "What's a vacation if you aren't also wrestling demons every once in a while?" At least she doesn't have to worry about that tonight. Those dreams were enough nasty business. "Call that tourism. All we need now are some crappy Hawaiian shirts."

The music slows to an instrumentation Ripley could probably fall asleep to were she not standing. Her tea-induced caffeination ebbs off, leaving behind only trace amounts of bravery and tiredness. Her arms are a heavy, comforting weight on Connie's shoulders. Really, she ought to thank her for keeping her upright.