"Thash ha grr'sh mishchrruh--"

Madeleine swallows her prawn. 

"...mischaracterization. There is a desk as well. And a lamp! Not to mention a chair, which is where I hang my coats. The rest of it is dedicated to closet space. There would be no room for my clothes if I bought something as useless as a bed, Machia. Don't be stupid. And do not paint me to be some kind of coffee-obsessed lunatic. I enjoy it an ordinary amount, thank you very much. Oh, and Blanche is in the closet furthest from the door. That's my tiger plush, she guards my very best dress. Though she [i]does[/i] also help me sleep, but how did you?"

Her thought is interrupted with a mouthful of golden, delicious, fluffy rice, which she chews with all of her typical poise and dignity. This is much easier than it was the other night; her extremities are not fighting her nor is she dehydrated to anywhere near the same degree. She is simply exhausted and in large amounts of pain. Completely ordinary.

But just the same she does not protest the steady flow of food being offered to her but quite contentedly opens her mouth to accept every varyingly crispy or soft or chewy or sh[b]r[/b]impy bite. At some point into the second prawn her ears start to flutter. Immediately after she notices she holds up a hand for a pause and frowns. She reaches for a glass of water and sips.

Just how long has Machia known how to cook? What had been the point of making Madeleine do it for so many months, if she'd secretly been better in a kitchen the entire time? Was it just not scientifically interesting enough if her dinner guest wasn't on the edge of breaking?

"This is very good," she says instead of any of that, "Thank you."

A beat. Madeline watches another prawn dance in front of her lips. She bites down on it with a blush. 

"Just... for the record, this is not my limit. I could easily endure another session tonight, possibly even two. Given how badly I failed, I'd prefer it, even. But we have more training tomorrow, and the unsanctioned match on Friday coming up as well. I thought you would appreciate it if I... wait. Twenty percent? Just how little do you think of me?! Put me in now, you jerk! I'll show [i]you[/i] twenty percent!"