[Mouth full of ribbon, Noa doesn't answer right away. When she pulls apart the last she pulls off the wrappings around her arm, too, and the glove, and there it is: metal and bulky and creaking as she extends it out in front of her and grinding as she flexes the joints at her elbow and wrist and finger to make sure everything feels as it ought to instead of gummed up by the rain.]

I very nearly died once, [she says and sounds no different than she has this whole conversation, musing and unfocused,] and I remember it very well. I think I would remember if the job were finished.

Also, it seems terribly unfair that I don't have an arm and you don't have an eye if we're dead. Also, I checked and I still have a pulse, though I suppose I shouldn't assume you do as well. Also, if that is the case, maybe you should be nicer to your friends.

[swing and a miss you horrible child]