( [Private to Self] )
And slowly but surely we get back on our feet. The survivors of death, the survivors of the uncontrolled wounds that were not about them, enduring despite it all.
In this vein, rather than simply reducing ourselves to hard words or even harder blows and skulking back into our respective corners, we should have a gathering. Much along the lines that Iris was speaking of, we could all go to the deck and mourn the lives we had in that breach, or the ones that came before. Watch the stars go by. Bring our own drinks and remind ourselves that we're all outcasts from one reality or another.
In the vein of Isaac Asimov, whatever the tortures of hell, I think the boredom of heaven would be a hell of a lot worse.