Libby gets that. She does. Her computer is part of her--she doesn't know what she'd be without it, this vital component that defines everything she is. Without it, she's just a mouthy whore. With it, she's a mouthy whore with an edge. She takes the tea and sips it, gratefully, although her stomach is twitching with nausea.

"You gave me tea. I can give you a computer." It'd be nice to have something to do--progress on her other projects is frustratingly slow, and as long as she's working she's not thinking about the conspicuous silence of Nikolai and Syg's comms. (She called, over and over, until she was screaming at her comm pick up pick up pick up.)

"What you wanna do with it? So I can figure specs." She brushes at her hair again, absently. She's used to having it twisted up and secured with wire or studded with shards of metal. She should get a ponytail holder or something.