After trying to pull flowers out of her skin, and trying to trim them off, she's likewise taken to the water. She's standing knee deep, hunched over and desperately trying to scrub them off of her arm. It's only making them hurt worse, and another crops up as she examines her work to see if it's done any good. Of course it hasn't.

She tenses immediately when someone else rushes into the water, straightening up and touching a hand to her hip, where her gun should be- but it's not. Her frustration pauses a second when she sees who the fuck it is, staring at him in disbelief and rage. The flowers are temporarily forgotten as she glares at him. Maybe she'll drown him. Or pick up a sea rock and bash his fucking skull in.

She can't say anything, uncharacteristically silent for far too long before she lets out, "So it's hell I'm in, got it." Because what the fuck else can she say?