[ Hilda can read between the lines. She understands that there's probably more for her to discover should she wake up here again the next day and the day after that. Common sense tells her that she should be more concerned about that than she is. The survival instinct she claims to not to have honed after five years of war prickles underneath her skin - but for some reason is strangely dulled, by what she can't say exactly.
It could be the environment or it could be the company (but it probably isn't the drink, right?). Regardless of the answer she gives him a teasing smile, some of those worries smoothing away with the ebb of the (fake) ocean. ]
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It could be the environment or it could be the company (but it probably isn't the drink, right?). Regardless of the answer she gives him a teasing smile, some of those worries smoothing away with the ebb of the (fake) ocean. ]
You say that like you already have ideas.