"For fuck's sake!"

Her grimacing face disappears into a mock turtleneck, and quickly reappears through the neck hole.

"That long?"

Goldy doesn't really do guilt. Not officially. So, as hard as that passage of time is to swallow, she doesn't blame herself for letting Miho go in the first place, or for not checking up on her before now. She's fucking upset about whatever has happened, because she had a certain amount of trust that Miho could take care of herself. And she intends to set things right however she can. But she doesn't feel responsible for it. Not really. Not yet.

She stoops to pick up her boots and socks—no need to put them on for the short trip back to her room—and snags her bra from where it's hanging on the barrel of a rifle propped at the end of the bed.

"Well. There's nothing we can do about that, except get her home."

After a scan around the room, she seems to be ready to leave.

"Alright. Um... you might want to leave the jacket behind, honey buns. Her city is in Southern California, if that's where she is."