The scent of the tea is slowly, subtly starting to permeate the room, and Cillian, closest, takes in when he pulls in a deep breath, as though it's him that's been crying. He lets it out slowly. She promises violence, and he believes her, because Christ knows it's something he could hear himself saying. He would tear the ship to pieces and fuck the lot of them, if it came down to it.

"I'm that guy, yeah. Whoever dragged us here wasn't polite enough to provide me my tech." It's said with a roll of the eyes, because he's still resentful of that, such a conspicuous emptiness in his locker, his back pocket oddly light without the modded tablet weighing it down. "But sure. If I'm being honest with you, I just want something to play with." A beat. "You know, machine-wise."

He turns again, this time to swirl and pour the tea, mugs warming in his hands as he lifts them, brings one over the scant space of the room between them to offer to her.