"I'm half-Swedish, and some people think we're aliens, so there's that? Vi är inte främlingar, jag svär…" Rae smirked after speaking Swedish, knowing that most people didn't encounter folks who spoke foreign languages anymore. For all Marga knew, she was speaking some alien language, but it was more amusing given that she'd told her friend that she wasn't an alien. "Dude, with your book of bad jokes and my book of bad plans? We'll both make millions," she nodded sagely. "And not millions of zombies cower, millions of dollars! Seriously, we should start documenting things. Some people do… granted the things they document are more solemn than bad jokes and bad plans… but whatever."
Rae had a hard time being quiet in general. Quiet car rides were difficult for her; too much time to think led her to think about their situation, and her positivity faded. So, she always tried to fill quiet moments with humor. It earned her the ire of a few people around her, but without her cheerful attitude, she wouldn't have lived as long as she had.
When she noticed that Marga had run out of ammo, Rae did her best to keep her friend (and herself) covered. Firing small, short bursts at every infected in her vicinity, she kept as many of them back as she could. Somehow, though, while she was distracted by making sure that the very back shuffler was dead, Marga had gotten cornered by one of the shufflers and she struggled against it, having a difficult time dispatching it but eventually winning out.
"Are you okay?" she asked now that the immediate threat was taken care of. She was more worried about her friend's emotional state more than her physical one, since she could see for the most part that she hadn't been bitten. "That was close… sorry I wasn't faster to help…"