It doesn't escape her notice; Lenore stands, languid and loose, but Gideon can extrapolate that she'd rather not wallow in filth the way that she has been debased to. Fair one, but in the very same breath it's also a hard fuck you. Her gaze cuts sharply toward her captor's face, but then drops back down to the tray again. She starts eating - more slowly this time, and without her earlier animality. In part to avoid a repeat of the nausea, and in part because this time she's aware she has an audience. An audience with a fancy dress, and a body unlike any she'd ever beheld back in Drearburh. Facts that are beginning to insinuate themselves into her consciousness now the peak of her fury has abated. Fuck her luck, that the first time she ever encounters the kind of woman she's only ever fantasised about, and she's some blood-sucker scum whose family have just lain waste to the closest thing she has to a home.

She keeps her focus on the food, on taking small sips of water, but she is listening. Though it's only when Lenore asks her question that she gives any indication that she's heard her. With a dry snort that might pass for a mirthless laugh, she looks up at her captor again, pausing in her slow, methodical refuelling.

"Good one. Since when were the spoils of war offered anything in return for their servitude?"