And now Chell is faced with a dilemma: follow Bucky's advice about pretending to be a God-fearing American, who apparently should dislike Mr. Rodeo? Or follow her own inclination to band together with a fellow outsider and do the opposite of what she's told, just because she's been told?

It's hardly a choice, when you get right down to it, of course. Chell glances from Raskolnikov to the local, reaches out to grab Raskolnikov's wrist, and tugs him away from the freezer. Fuck the locals. And fuck shopping. (Easy for her to say, with her empty cart.) Maybe they can go talk outside, if it's not too cold, and let the townsfolk be judgmental if they want.