It really doesn't help much, does it? Not much about this situation is helping. She's wearing a dress, this bag doesn't have a fucking strap, and she's stomping around Bizarro World without a wand.

"Okay." It's not. But, y'know. Regrouping. Formulating. Uncursing. "She's the worst. Fantastic." Another short breath, fingers cutting the air in Budget Icarus' direction. "Well, Eric's fucked. So somebody's got to get her shit for her."