Matilda’s much more easygoing once Terrence has helped her escape from her own personal fortress of solitude. She shimmies out of the sleeping bag, pouting and fluffing her hair and ridiculous buttercream colored skirts. “I’m fine, if not a little chargrained at our current situation.” She lets out a tiny hmph, adjusting her goggles, kicking the sleeping bag out of the way. “I’d never sleep in one of those. So uncomfortable!”