It's a weight off her shoulders to not have to worry for those few blissful moments of contact, to get drawn into the embrace, where she can just get herself lost in her brothers brand of affection. Cling like she's small again. There's nobody in the tunnels that could replace that, and no reason that Torrie would ever want to. There is a list of things that have only ever been reserved for Solomon, crushing, all encompassing hugs are most definitely on that list. "Well, they are feeding people to dogs, so..." Torrie trails off, words muffled into his shoulder, lighter than the subject matter suggests they should be. It's barbaric, ruthless, but she's lost the shock at the actions of the Ghouls around her. "Could be they'll just cut out the middleman soon." Who the hell knew what kind of actions would eventually come of prolonged Prax use; she knows it isn't doing her system any good and she's far from the worst off.
At the familiar green box Torrie wriggles an arm free just enough to grab for the cardboard. "I never said I was eating face, Sol," she retorts, sisterly irritation bleeding through only at the edges, in stark contrast to the way her eyes are lit up. "I told you there'd be boxes in the kitchen." She is selfishly happy they hadn't been liberated by anyone else at the UMCB. "You're not so bad." Torrie is up on her toes, pressing a kiss to the skin of her brothers cheek, and what's not said is written in bold black ink between the lines. All the 'I missed yous' and 'I loves yous' delivered in her own brand.
"Nobody gave you trouble, right?" she asks him, fingers still wrapped around the box, arms still clinging. Soon it will be awkward to stand the way they are, but she's soaking it in for a second, maybe two longer. "It's been a little while since you've been down here." Which is her fault, not his. Though she could have hardly persuaded him not to if he got it in his head to come.