There have definitely been days where Elle can't stand the morning sing-alongs. Where it's just -- grating, a reminder that there's something wrong with her, that she can't belong here, that she's never getting away from the Nurse. Other days, though, it's almost soothing. Where the facade of togetherness almost works, and she's at least reminded that she isn't alone.

Today, though, she doesn't know how she feels. Her voice is wavering, almost fading out completely sometimes, losing herself in thought. Her hands are always moving, though, always absently fidgeting -- with her own fingers, her clothes, her short hair, her network bracelet.

She notices being noticed, though, that little niggling tap on the mental shoulder. She may have been here for some time now, longer than she has memory of home at this point, but wasteland survival instincts are still too well-embedded. She blinks a little when he addresses her, but she nods.

"Yeah. I am." A beat. "Um... You're -- one of the new people, right? From that other ship? The Barge?" The one Yunlan told her about.

Raylan. Oh. There's a flicker of recognition in Elle's eyes, and she's nodding even before he finishes speaking.

"Elle, Elle Days." She said her name on her post, but she knows that not everyone remembers names the way she does, and there's no harm in introducing herself again anyway. (She didn't spend that long without a name, she really didn't. But even a few days left a permanent mark.)

"I've been here for a couple years now... Longer, actually, but, um. I try not to think about it." She could always check her journal, but whenever she's reminded of specifically how long she's been here, it always feels -- just. Bad. So many kinds of bad. "And, yeah, I've gone back and forth on whether I'm a Patient or Assistant the whole time. I came aboard as an Assistant initially, but..." She rubs the back of her neck.

"Um. So. Yunlan said I should talk to you."

At that question, on reflex, Elle's eyes scan the area around them. But, all things considered, it's not like it matters. She isn't an Assistant right now, and hasn't been one in a while, but... well. After so long, the paranoia is embedded.

Her words start out slow as she measures how to say what she wants to say, gradually picking back up to regular conversation pace. She idly fidgets as she talks, tracing her thumb over her wristbone.

"I think... the Nurse probably really does believe in what they say they're trying to do. The -- intended mission statement." To borrow his phrasing there. "And... I do agree that helping people reach a point where they're happy is a good thing. But... I don't think the Nurse's way of going about it, the kind of happiness they look for, is..." Here, she balks, but pushes past it. "I think -- it's more harmful than anything else. And the Nurse doesn't seem to -- allow for exceptions. Or compromise. For... much of anything. It doesn't matter to the Nurse if someone is putting themselves on the line to help other people, but has a grumpy personality. Or that they don't have the option to avoid violence back home. They think everyone should be the way they think is best, no matter what."

She realizes she's staring at her hands. She shakes her head slightly and raises her gaze back to his face. "And what they're asking of people, it's... unsustainable. And damaging. It isn't... real... happiness."

The compliment gets a split second of a blank look, then a flicker of lowered eyelashes. She still hasn't figured out how to react properly to compliments. But then he's suggesting a walk, and she all but jumps for the idea, her mood immediately brightening.

"Yeah, sure. A walk sounds nice." She hops to her feet, clasping her hands behind her back. "I didn't sleep all that good last night and I'm kinda sore, so the stretch'll be nice."

As if they need the excuse. But the cheerfulness might at least help turn eyes away.