She snorts a little at that; "What, I just thought your decor preference included knives. You're telling me that's not the case?" With what she knows of CT thus far, she'd be surprised if the woman actually owns a sofa. Hell, a chair of any kind. As of now, it's a mystery whether she can recline anywhere without work on the brain. Ripley may have to implement the scientific method to find out.

"The Charon; I don't remember if you mentioned that one before. A military craft?"

Make the best of it, she says. Ripley can't promise anything. In fact, she'll probably keep her home the same bland of gray-white until the rift opens and— does whatever mysterious supernatural rifts do... But the sentiment is a start. Maybe a plant will kick things off, too.

Playing her role as a proper courtier, Ripley links arms and leads the way. "Chocolate it is, then. It's been forever. The best thing on our menu back home was the coffee. You should have seen the shit our ship's kitchen-service pumped out. Completely machined."