[ the smallest of smirks touches her lips, as if she's amused by the mere notion. ] You can try, Mister Kirk. You can try.

[ but the coffee does better at holding her attention, and she likely paints quite the picture as she kneels next to the archaic machine so that she's eye level with the container and the liquid splashing into it. the heat radiating off the pot is comfort enough, like an old worn blanket she misplaced somewhere and found again by accident. ]

Smells like it, too, [ she says. ] It's been a long time since I've had freshly brewed coffee of any kind.