[Trish was told they were being given packages, packages with desperately needed supplies, and she came without a second thought, clutching hers to her chest when the commotion starts.

Ah.

Her stomach churns, but the strange man's timing saves her from spiraling into her own head for the moment, at least. She blinks owlishly at the jacket he holds out, gaze then dropping to the loose, green shirt (clearly a man's size) draped over her arm, which she...

Trish swallows, offering it to him, head turned away.]

Just take it. I don't want anything in return.

[Truthfully, the way this guy seems unbothered by what's going on isn't wholly unfamiliar to her. As ill as she feels, she finds she doesn't surrender her whole package to him.

Razors, toothbrushes...things like that weren't nearly as personal as clothes, and she couldn't imagine snagging on someone's grief by wearing it in front of them. But she's sure types like this guy and Bruno could. They were like rocks in a river, unyielding.]

We're going to undo some good will strutting about in clothes like this, but it can't be helped, right? That's what you're going to say.

[Just in case he decides to chide her for refusing useful things like this. Clothes aren't easy to come by, surely. Not here.]