Caitlyn sits primly next to Clara. For her, she's relaxed: leaned back in the chair, legs crossed, head resting sideways on her hand. But even slightly inebriated, her posture is still impeccable.

"Yes. Well. No, it hasn't. But we have spent some time together." She frowns miserably. How can she miss Vi this badly when it can't have been more than a few hours since she last saw her? "Just earlier today, she was chopping wood, and I was..." Watching appreciatively. "Helping. She brought up a play she'd been told about, something to do with a young couple on opposing sides of a conflict who kill themselves, and I. I tried to say that I thought love could overcome such obstacles, but she. She reflected on the tragedy of the lovers' families reconciling only after their deaths, got flustered, tried to recite a poem, and left."