The look Integra gives the set-up is one not unlike a resigned parent watching a lopsided fish at an aquarium. Frankly, she doesn't understand nor see the appeal in most things her subordinates use to decompress or entertain themselves with, and it's apparent from how she doesn't bother pointing anything out that these additions were not made by her own hand. (She's fine with it, though. Warriors are permitted their comforts and vices, in her opinion.)

"I suppose." Seriously, she has no idea. Can you imagine this woman playing Halo? Integra leads her through to the kitchen, which is at least clean, though there's an assortment of things stuck to the fridge - notices about weapons, a death threat over chicken salad, a report. Or two. "I realize our wages are only just adequate," she continues. "It's why I've worked to get deals in town for my employees. You're free to eat here, whenever, and abuse of our electric bill. I'd like to be funded better, but with the Militia the way it is, politics are somewhat of a headache."