As nice as it would be to get out of these fucking brambles, Johnny finds himself marginally uncomfortable with the offer of help from someone he doesn't consider a friend. "I don't know if that's gonna work out well for any of us," he says hesitantly. He nods toward Greta's scraped up hands. "I don't want you getting hurt." (Is that the plural or the singular 'you' there? Does it matter.) "Any more than I want anyone trying to pull me out of here." He's cut up enough thank you.

"Anyway, look, if the rift is actually cursing us, like if you can't stop lying, I don't know that it's going to let me go. You should see if you can get her out of here." He's not wholly certain what Greta's affliction is, perhaps other than a failing sense of direction. This asshole seems like her and vice versa, so maybe they can help each other. And if this doesn't wear off someone can come back with shears.