[Hank grimaces up at the clouds. She needs- something, obviously. This kid - and who knows if this is true, there are a whole lotta weirdoes here with a whole lot of weird fuckin stories - but this might of been the first disaster on this scale she's ever fucking seen. And even if it wasn't, shit, it wasn't his large-scale intro to how horrific the world can be and look at him. She needs something. What she needs is for him to get his shit together.

Hank closes his eyes on the clouds, takes a deep breath, and forces all the shit that got stirred up by how bad an owner he is to this poor fucking dog back down his throat. Okay. Okay.]

Don't apologize to me, I don't own the damn lake.

[As soon as he hears that come out of his mouth Hank looks down at the ground, grimacing. Cut down on the cursing, he thinks, jesus. When someone sounds all tentative like that, especially a kid, the last thing they need to hear is his fucking mouth. He can do this. Okay.

He shakes his head, toning his voice down enough that it hopefully sounds almost casual, apologetic.]

Come on, sit down, we can share the view. You needed to come out here too, huh?

[The more relaxed tone, the open ended question, it invites her to talk about her emotions and shit if she needs to, without pushing if she doesn't. There we go. That's good. That's better.]