"These are good shoes," Dee hisses at the short-shit teenager sauntering up to her. She says that, but she also wobbles on one foot and then the other as she tries to wipe said good shoes clean against the dirt. Bloody mud sluice is better than just straight up hunks of brain, she figures.

She gives the corpse another unceremonious yank and the knife finally comes free, along with a piece of the body's thumb. She gags into her elbow and tosses it away, suppressing a high-pitched whine only for the sake of saving face in front of this smart-ass. Gross.

She wipes the knife against the corpse's ratty clothing - as if that helps things - and starts to saw away at the chain links. After a moment, she pauses, wraps her sawing hand in the corner of her jacket, and starts again in earnest. It'd be easier if her hands weren't shaking.

"As far as I can tell there's wood in there, and I need a damn fire." She narrows her eyes at him, the conniving little wheels whirring away in her head as she tries to come up with some kind of way to trick him into going in on her behalf. Make him a little canary in the mine. She has no idea if he's dumb enough to fall for it, but underestimating her opponent has never given Sweet Dee pause. "But if you're so worried about me, we could use the buddy system."