Oh, okay, good, no mashy plates. Pepper spray is nothing to play with, though. It's really hard to dodge.

She follows him to the kitchen, watching him navigate one-handed. When he invites her to sit and points to the coffee, she nods slowly and takes one of the kitchen chairs, perching towards the edge of it. Not totally relaxed yet. (Her nightgown rides up to reveal a set of gnarly, old-looking scars on both sides of her knees, like something was once surgically installed and then removed without much finesse.)

She waves for his attention, when she gets the chance, taps her left arm, and points at him quizzically.