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Harrison, who had not said much up until this point, slid grimly from his chair and in between Peyton and Rep.

Taym stepped in, and she dissolved back into her seat.

When it seemed clear, Harrison relaxed a fraction, and put his hand on Rep's arm.

"It's not much longer anyhow," he said quietly. Rep didn't have to defend him, but he appreciated the sentiment.

Cass rolled her eyes as she looked at Marcus. "I was hoping I was just here to do trust exercises or some s**t, even if the only person here I expect to catch me is you, so there is that."

Rep fleetingly rested his other hand on Harrison's. His hands shook and it could be felt but not seen.

He backed off, sitting down again, still tense and ruffled, ready to snap or pounce any minute, but he laced his fingers what looked accidentally in Harrison's to take him with him, effortless, hardly visible body language meant for him alone.

Except that Roland intervened too, and got some of the pressure off of him. He shot Peyton another dirty look without any real effort or malice in it--it was rote, and she'd probably recognize it as such--before he slunk back over to America and unceremoniously took the flask out of her hand. He cradled his forehead in his palm and in the attitude of a habitual drunk with a migraine, huddled over it like it was a life preserver.

He stated at her. Did she...actually want him to sit her down?

He slowly stood up, wondering what was going on and put a hand on her back to try leading her to the chair like a animal tamer trying to get a loose lioness back in her cage.

Peyton Felt Roland slid onto the couch beside her, heard him talking, but her attention was all for Taym as he gave her arm another harsh jerk and leaned in to hiss in her ear, and the look he got in return was so scathing it should have burned. It didn't matter that his features softened almost immediately as if he realized what he said had crossed the line. It didn't matter that he'd stopped her from doing something she'd have regretted later. There was an awkward moment of hovering to which Peyton growled out at. "Just go back to America." And maybe the words were a little more bitter then she'd meant them to be, but she was having a hard time controlling her emotions.

With a miserable sigh she sank back unto the couch again between the two boys, legs drawing up to serve as partial barrier. Her head went down, brow resting on her knees, and small hands disappeared into pale pink curls as she rubbed circles along her temples.

It took a minute, but eventually she acknowledged Roland by means of leaning against his shoulder. She'd heard him, she just didn't want to talk anymore. Specially not with Melvin's nagging guilt trip offered up into open air. Of course she'd wanted to go after him, but She didn't know him that well yet. She didn't know how to help him.

Whatever was going on in Mimsy's head had apparently reached a point of hilarity. Svensyl only encouraged it by plucking up the most amusing portions and dropping them back in front of her again, laughing along with her, laced with lunacy.

Her laughter was far into uncontrollable, and unsettlingly mirrored exactly what one might imagine a mad scientist's laugh should sound like. The stereotype was accurate this time.

Sadly, it was not a particularly sensitive laugh.