Bree smiled in anticipation as one by one, the members of their little cell returned. They were close enough that she could see them from the window of the apartment. With a bit of flourish, Bree put the finish touches on the nights dinner and finally set the food down. She tried her best to have a bit of something for everyone, though obviously the dessert foods came later. 

Soon the table was practically glittering with food as she huffed with satisfaction. She couldn't remember what she was, before the war, asides from a few throw-away hints by the scientists that had worked on her, but she thought that in that life, she probably wouldn't have minded being a chef. It was fun work, after all.

"Oh, almost forgot . . ."

Bree made her way to her room, where she kept a large wooden box. It was a wine cabinet, of sorts, though it didn't really have much contents. She wasn't fond of alcohol, at least not as a beverage, but she made an exception for wine. The soldiers she had worked with like to have wine to celebrate, and one officer in particular taught her the finer points about the drink.

She paused, browsing through the six bottles she had. Her eyes lingered on a particular bottle; aged ten years and classified as a Class A wine, it was easily the most valuable one in her small collection, and also the only one she didn't buy. It was a gift from the same superior that taught her about wines in the beginning, as thanks for saving his, and his men's, life during a skirmish. 

He told her to save it, and open only for a really momentous occasion, for a time when her heart sang out and the desire to immortalize the moment burst forth uncontrolled. 

Unfortunately, she'd yet to find that moment.

Shaking her head, Bree picked out another bottle - aged five years, from a respectable winery, and toasted with a vanilla aroma - and headed out, setting it on a smaller table for later. 

Taking off her apron, she double-checked everything, and made her way to the living room, ready to welcome back the crew.