Truth be told Abby's just glad the screaming has stopped, because she's awkward, and her hands aren't used to being gentle even though her heart is (more or less) in the right place. She wants to help, and this is the best way that she knows how to. And the undressing doesn't bother her either. She grew up having to share living spaces with other people. Your eyes glaze over quick.

In fact, she joins her, tugging off her shirt so she can put her bra on underneath of it. It's the one that came through the Rift with her and it's started pulling out of shape, wearing thin across the band, but it's the only one she has; she's also used to wearing her clothes to death.

She finds her braid fuzzy and loosening, when she fishes it out of the neck of her shirt. Whatever. She'll redo it later, maybe after a bath.

"Walks," she tells the dog, who barks in response, but only once. He knows exactly what he can get away with. Abby grimaces at the noise and rubs the back of her neck, shoving her feet into her boots. "Wanna steal some breakfast from the mess hall and take it with us?"