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This is Rosita. I'll hit you back when I can.

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"Depends on if you're planning on going for a deal or not I guess," Lark shrugs, but no, otherwise, no.

"I'm not planning on anything."

Which is, strictly speaking anyway, true enough.

"Murder, huh?"

"What, nothing? You're just going to stay here?" She's not the first one to try. Lark tried it.

"I could argue semantics. It's not really homicide if the people I killed aren't the same species I am, is it?"

"Legally speaking, you might have an argument. That's not how shit works here though, because maybe no one can say how it does, but there's plenty to say about how it doesn't. I guess."

A lemon manifests in the air. She's quick enough to catch it before it hits the ground, rolling her eyes.

"I can't plan anything if I can't affect anything. So if that means staying, then I guess it means staying."

"What makes you think you can't affect anything?" A butterfly this time, which Lark waves away.

"Because if I get too big for my britches, any warden that gets sick of hearing my mouth can do whatever they want to me, and I can't do fuckall about it."

This is not a fully honest answer. She absolutely would do something about it, but apparently the Barge doesn't have an appropriate commentary on that particular tone.

"Wardens do fuck all about inmates already," Lark scoffs. "Just watch the latest murder spree. You aren't actually afraid of that are you?"

"Afraid is a bit strong. Wary is closer."

She eyes him.

"You don't think that's so ridiculous, do you?"

She's kind of hoping for a steel bear trap but no such luck.

"The biggest consequence I ever got was being held in a magic cage for a few hours. That's it," he shrugs. "Wardens might have power but they don't like to use it. They'll go pretty far out of their way to avoid using it."

"That hasn't been my experience with people. It's usually only a matter of what they get caught at."

And mostly she doesn't want anything to do with people who underestimate the power they have just by being declared the authority in a group.

"Yeah that's not the norm here. Here, wardens push their life's vision of morality on you and go with that at the parties." Which Lark is for and against in equal measure.

She gives him an unimpressed look.

"Here's what I know. If someone hits me swinging their dick around, I'll cut it the fuck off. I'd rather just be left out of it altogether."

"That's fair. And it seems like they're respecting that now, or at least everyone who was arguing with you before has." But there is no way to be left out of things entirely around here.

"Respecting is probably a stretch. Sulking is more likely."

But she can let it go as long as the outcome is the same. She's well aware her preferences are not likely to be a priority any time soon.

"So what are we doing?"

He shrugs, finishes programming the Hawaiian beach in and opens the door for her. He takes off his shoes. "Sunbathing, wading, swimming. What did you do at the beach before all the zombies took over?"

"I lived in Dallas," she reminds him. "There were no beaches. But mostly I teased boys. And girls."

She steps out carefully onto the sand in her boots, looking at it suspiciously.

"Well the AI in here isn't great so there's no point teasing the people in the Enclosure," he says, grimacing. "But everything else works. Take your boots off; feel the sand."

"Yeah that's not going to happen," she answers, firm, still regarding the sand warily.

"But be my guest."

"Is this your first time at the beach?" What's with the skepticism?

He keeps his shoes on, though.

"Since the virus, yes."

Since she's learned there are horrors in soft ground, and anywhere she can't see where her body ends up.

He finds a long stick and offers it to her, demonstrating how she can use it to prod the ground ahead of her. She'll feel anything buried before it can get her.

"We'll stay out of the water," he says, because he loves the beaches around LA but he's a desert wolf primarily. He likes solid ground, likes being able to breathe easy.

She watches him, tolerantly not pointing out that she knows full well how to check the ground for buried walkers. She's still not taking off her shoes.

"It doesn't turn off now. Just -" She shakes her head.

"Do what you want. When was the last time you went to the beach?"

"Last summer. But it was for work, so..." He didn't enjoy it the way he could have. "And the beaches back home are crowded, dirty. Not like this."

"You were lawyering on the beach?" she asks, skeptical.

"Don't tell me you're one of those celebrity lawyers."

He scoffs. Yes, he is one, but. "My husband is some kind of social media celebrity. My job, when I'm not being a lawyer, is being his arm candy when he's showing off."