There's no way she could fall back to sleep now, so Clarisse runs a hand through her own hair a few times in a vague approximation of brushing it—good enough—and then reaches over to grab some clothes out of her pack. They've all gotten pretty good at living out of a tent, keeping what's left of their stuff organized and easy to find.

"Not sure yet, we haven't talked about it," she admits. "Maybe we'll get a drink after work or something."

Since, you know, the tavern is sitting there completely undamaged and they might as well use it. The thought of a cold drink after a day of hauling rubble around does sound appealing. She pulls a clean shirt over her head and asks, very slightly muffled, "You want to come?"

By the time she's finished getting dressed, Ellie still hasn't come back. Clarisse decides to give her a few more minutes, but she's visibly antsy, cracking her knuckles and then messing with a half-healed scrape on her wrist.