Really. Rose should know by now to never turn her back on the body.

Mere seconds after she does just that, wispy tendrils of multicoloured smoke begin curling around Vriska's corpse. After a minute or two of overly-flashy lighting effects and rainbow bullshittery, she's as good as new.

There's no thanks for her rescuer, though. Instead Vriska wipes her bloody hands on her pants, sits up and examines her surroundings with something in between disinterest and disgust.

"Your block is a shithive."