“Careful,” Pluto warned the younger girl, brows flying up on her face. “You need to aim that thing or you’re going to hurt someone – maybe yourself.”

“D’you remember what we practiced?” Hazel asked as she nearly-effortlessly twirled the knife between her fingers, “To like defend yourself?”

“Who’s there?” Hazel asked, rope held taut between her hands, a portion of it wrapped around her fists. A notable tremor shook at her fists, her chest falling in short, shallow breaths, her voice however remained steady. “If you just come out I’ll make it wicked fuckin’ quick, promise,” She almost joked, the weight of the threat feeling almost unreal. Her space suit sat neatly folded in a corner, tucked behind a cargo container along with her empty canteen and the packet she hadn’t had a chance to open.

“How d’you think it went? Our interviews” Hazel asked, happy to be out of that incredibly too prissy dress and into something vaguely resembling an outfit she’d wear back in Seven. She longed to be able to grab something from her closet back home; wanting to trade expensive fabrics for comfort. Her hands knit into the grass she sat on, almost lazily picking at the blades, “I feel like it was like, really okay. I felt kinda boring.”