In Ilde's experience and opinion, it's a game like everything else (of course it is, principessa, that's why it has rules, do you see?) - but they know these rules, and they're both still learning the other ones. While generally inclined to a certain frankness, she's more selective when she's playing this role in particular, which is probably why she doesn't mention her own mother preferred art deco and referred to Emery's Italian house as a masturbatory delusion of grandeur.

Then again, it isn't as though she talks about her mother at any other time, either.

"Fruit juice would be ideal," she says, instead, briefly diverted by the mix of magic and muggle in the kitchen's layout; it's curious and clever, and she decides a moment later that she likes it. "I've got to be careful with things like caffeine, even in tea- it's terrible." If it were that terrible, she wouldn't talk about it, so presumably it's not going to be the end of the world. It's just that alcohol isn't the only thing that rockets through her fae system like a bat out of hell, and fruit juice at least goes down the way it's meant to; she's designed to eat light and well.

"Did you do this yourself?" The magic, she means, not quite touching the refrigerator, as if she can feel it - because that's precisely the case, and her tone holds subtle admiration.