Rose had sat herself down with her jacket and a sharp chunk of obsidian when George decided to rush off to the bridge. She turned her head to watch, shrugged, and went back to shredding her jacket with her improvised knife; the skinny bloke seemed to have the situation covered.
She paused in her work again to correct Bert with a laugh. “Please don’t mistake me for a lady. Ladies don’t get their hands dirty and they don’t get themselves banished.” Rose’s smile was mischievous. “I’ve done both, and often; it’s more fun that way.”
The blonde returned to her task, fabric strips slowly piling up in front of her crossed legs. “Probably best not. You wanna take the next shift, or should I?” Deeming the pile large enough, she stopped and fashioned the remaining material into a crude pocket. She filled the pocket with her newly-made tags, taking care to prevent them from tangling up.
Rose stood, tucking the bundle under one arm. “And the other one gets me as a consolation prize.” Facing the girls, she bowed with a ridiculous flourish. “Not as handsome or young as our boy here, but no less a knight. Dame of the British Empire, for all that means here.”