[i]Are you sure?[/i] she does not ask, because that would be stupid and insulting and only make things worse.

[i]But you could get hurt![/i] she does not say, because it's so obvious that letting it out would make both of them dumber for having to hear it.

[i]There must be another way.[/i] she does not suggest, because if there is she doesn't know one. And if there was, it probably wasn't faster.

Still though, she had quit. And if that'd been to participate in mob-rigged death matches with mercenary runners, she would never have been interested in training Madeleine in the first place. Unless it... well, no. Even then it amounted to something deeply unpleasant. Special and important in a way that she couldn't really process.

Madeleine places her feet underneath her. Carefully. Pressing one palm on the table, she rises into a standing position which through the magic of Eating and Drinking Properly she is able to keep. Quietly, she gathers the dishes of her meal and walks them into the kitchen to wash with the nervous care of a tightrope artist. When she disappears behind the corner, only then in the moment when she cannot be observed, she allows herself to blossom into the quiet smile she can neither explain or understand. 

But she comes back with a storm in her eyes. And also the spoon, washed and dried. An intrusive thought in the back of her head tells her to lick it, but she kicks that into the abyss and plunges the utensil back into the poor neglected cake. Once more she lifts, and once more she offers the bite to Machia. Though less... intensely than she had at the cafe.

"I appreciate this," she says, "All of it. I will not waste any part of the training we have left. I promise..."