"Hit in your head," Gideon mutters. Despite how weak Harrow's arm muscles and every other kind of muscle (brain isn't actually a muscle, she thinks), they healed impressively quick. Enough to make up for how much worse she'd been at fighting. At first. She doesn't know if Harrow's from before all that. If there's a Harrow after all that.

She steps up and orders as much fried protein as they'll give her, quickly, before she steps to the side to wait for it. That's what others have been doing. "You didn't have to promise your skeleton to perform decades more labor in return?" Gideon pokes fun at the Ninth House that doesn't have the labor any other way. The dead are more productive than most of them were shortly before they died. "Not fully like home then."