Hawke? Is that you? You aren't holding out on the good rubbish, are you?

[ seriously, anything compostable was a lucky find. Merrill does her best to find Hawke, rustling her hands through trash until she touches something particularly fleshy. she hoped it was Hawke and not a corpse of some kind. ]

I think I've got you, as long as this precarious liquid on my hand doesn't make my hand slip. Can you stand? [ she starts to yank as hard as she can. give her some leeway, hawke, she's tiny.. ]