This truly was getting ridiculous. Mags couldn't see through her hair, stuck to her face ignobly, and she wondered if she might run into something. Or fall off a cliff, or into the lake. She wasn't really near the lake but at the rate she was going, she might end up there. Frankly, it would be a blessing, maybe she could stop dancing when she drowned.

I'd be the dancing drowned ghost of Peckinpaugh, she thought, not entirely bothered by the idea.

"Freya!" Just like her muttered curses, the name was partly muffled by her hair. "What robots?" Discarding that as not important, she yelled, "If these robots are the ones making me spin, I'm going to hurl on them." A bit more plaintatively, she added, "...help?"