Claire makes a noise in the back of her throat, something like a snort wrapped up in a bitter ball of twine, exasperated and black with humor all the same. She wishes they were walking but is equally glad that they aren't around a throng of people to clog up her perceptions and blur her peripheral, both for the sake of the blood on his shirt and for her own selfish purposes of not really wanting to answer anymore questions. You don't remember? or we thought we lost you, and she has no idea what any of them are talking about. At least this conversation makes as much sense as it can given the context. It's always been easier for her to investigate others in the interest of not talking about herself but that might have been a clue right there, that small sound in her throat.

"This place seems big enough that you might actually be able to avoid each other if one of you tries hard enough," she points out, though without knowing the scope and depth of his resentment and the fantasies that accompany them, it just comes off as trite. She's been on both sides of the line, but she can't say with any amount of honesty that she ever wanted Jackie dead. Considering how dead she actually ended up, schoolyard grudges seem so stupid in retrospect. Considering the small, red splash on his shirt, they don't get any less stupid.

Vaguely, she wonders how old he is, what the other person's name is, any number of questions that would get her any number of answers, but rather than asking that question instead says, with a look that borders on a wince, "Sorry you've had such a crappy day."