Gideon picks up a few of the narrow fragile bones. "I can make bones move," she says, making them dance across the floor. She laughs, not quite sure when she last laughed with someone so easily. This island is good. She's not sure about the Ancient and the whole conscription toward self-improvement program (sounds maybe????? like some Eighth House bullshit, if they got off their 'fuck up and die' high horse).

Her smile sticks around. That's what's so good about bad jokes. They make things better. "I haven't bothered making a to do list for if I go back..." Gideon shrugs. "It was all chaotic enough right then that wouldn't work. Even if I was a list maker/note writer." A small shrug. "Shame it's not bowels. You could work on that here."