[Claire does look absolutely, positively miserable but not from the cold. She's covered in grime and sweat-stains that run through it, along with scrapes and scratches that are evident pretty much everywhere you look, but the cold doesn't appear to be a huge issue. She's leaning up against the coach's wall, with a huge black dog's head resting in her lap. Her own familiar snorts as the young man enters, and she offers a soft smile before rejecting the cup.]
No, you drink it. I don't think I could keep anything down right now. But thanks.
[There's so much going on...food? drink? low priority.]
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No, you drink it. I don't think I could keep anything down right now. But thanks.
[There's so much going on...food? drink? low priority.]
'Sides, you look soaked through.