"Maybe." She gives Kate a tight little grin--one last stretch of her arms over her head, fingers laced together--and then she lets them drop, lightly, raises her hands to her hair to scratch her fingers against her scalp, run her fingers through her hair. This is deliberate preening, showing off a bit of clean unmarked neck. "But at least I don't look like shit."

She's not about to ask what happened, and she won't give Kate anything like pity or something that could be misconstrued as interest. Instead, she tugs her too-big t-shirt over her head and tosses it aside, stripped down now to just the tight black pants from the Arena and a sports bra. With another grin, she holds out one hand to Kate, like she's asking her to dance.

"Well?"