[ She has no idea what the hell is going on, just that there are dinosaurs here, for some reason. But all she really cares about, at this point, is getting off this car—and preferably off this train. So she sneaks around the dinosaur car, desperately wishing she had her gun with her—not that it would probably do very much against actual dinosaurs, but still—until she stumbles on the exit door.

Which doesn't budge at all, no matter how hard she tries. And she does try—jiggling the handle, attempting to kick the door in, pressing her booted foot against it and pulling with all her might—and predictably, none of it works. Now she wishes she had her lockpicking tools with her too, as well as her gun.

She stops and blows the hair out of her eyes with obvious frustration, hands on her hips as she considers her predicament. ]

Now what?

[ Well, this car feels very peaceful, especially in comparison to the previous Jurassic Park-style car. And she does love shiny things, even if the pink is a little much. After looking around curiously for a second, her phone dings—she quickly digs it out of her pocket to read the new message. ]<

Well, at least this one gives us an objective. I'm not really much for singing, though.

[ She glances at her companion, not very subtle about the way she sizes them up, chin tipped upwards. Curious. Nonchalant, really. ]

How about you?

[ For some reason, this car has seen fit to cast her as a cop (a detective, but still), which she finds particularly ironic considering how hard she works to avoid the law. And unlike Nathan Drake, she's pretty good at it. No Panamanian jails for her.

But anyway... with a sigh, she spares a glance at the corpse on the ground at her feet, blood splattered all up the side of the building. ]

Well, this is... grisly.

[ She doesn't sound too concerned—it's not the first dead body she's seen, and it likely won't be the last. This one hasn't even been decomposing for half a century in a hidden temple somewhere. She'll take that as a win. ]

Do tell me you know what a "good end" is so we can get the hell out of here.

[ So far the objectives have left a lot to be desired—she prefers more explicit instructions, if possible, but that's never the way of it, is it? As it turns out, magical trains, like lost ancient civilizations, prefer to make things difficult.

Via the light cast by her phone, she bends over and picks up the unlit torch, turning it over in her hands. She's assuming it has something to do with "bring the light," even if it isn't readily apparent how they're supposed to light it, exactly. She definitely didn't arrive with a lighter—with a pang of fondness, she thinks that Nadine probably would've come prepared.

But ah well. Hopefully, she asks: ]

You wouldn't just so happen to have a light, would you?

[ let's wildcard!!! i'm down for all the cars. she'll be attempting some very bad bakes in the gbbo car and lounging around the vacation car, living her best life. ]