[Funnily enough, it's not the prospect of suddenly being somewhere she's never seen before and doesn't remember traveling to that bothers Abigail. Or, well, it does — just not as much as it might. She's used to being tugged back and forth, having the world utterly out of her control; she doesn't like it, but there's a measure of learned helplessness that's getting worse instead of better.]

[What gets her, what really freezes her, is the pamphlets. Alternatives to Human Flesh, and she just stares at it, her fingers shaking like the branches of an aspen. She tastes sausages on the back of her tongue.]

[There are two flavors of hysteria accessible here. One, just after she reads the pamphlet and actually processes the title, is a sharp burst of laughter, staccato and uncontrollable. The second is after she reads through the entire thing. This one, it's a little more calculated, but it's hard to tell, unless you've got the benefit of sharpened hearing: there are tears at the corners of her eyes, her lips are quivering, but her heartbeat's evened out when she comes up to the nearest person with her brows pinched and a question on her lips.]

Excuse me, is — is this a joke?