Beau shoves a hand up into her hairline, mussing it in frustration as she connects a few dots. "Right, fuck, this is a fucking carnival. Even if you're not putting on shows, like, ever. It's still for weird people who don't fit in anywhere, or play nice with outsiders, or any of that, isn't it."

Times like this, she misses picking fights with Molly, or longing - and lusting, a little - after Yasha. Taken as individuals, the carnival folks are almost normal kinds of maddening. She'd almost forgotten how frustrating dealing with them as a group was, since the whole getting arrested for others' crimes thing had overwhelmed a lot of her ambient outrage about the situation.