Drowning's more or less an abstract concept to her, from the Wasteland, but, well, looking at the creaking glass, she'd rather keep it that way.

At first she things the roaring crowd is water--the way their footfalls and voices ricochet around the space seems to froth like a giant wave of sound, like the water Immortan Joe sometimes--only sometimes--let fall from the Citadel's heights.

"Not much of a joiner," she says, after a glance at the running mob. "Have a feeling if there was someplace safe to run to, you'd've lit out for there before now." She could be wrong, but self preservation is a universal trait.