Deirdre huffed, exasperated with her companions. She rose from where she'd been sitting, gathered her skirts around her legs, and stalked over to the divide between the two cells, snapping at Lone. "And if, if, you were to change, get out, and not get shot... Do you have any idea where to go? In 1920s Chicago? Not to mention the fact that I doubt the rest of us are going to be able to run as fast as you." She cast a glance over at Anya. "Especially her."
Your companions are useless and I no longer wish to be confined. Deirdre made a harsh, annoyed sound at the reappearance of the voice, and turned abruptly to go back to her seat, rubbing slightly at her temple.