It took a moment for Seshat to understand that Styx was being sarcastic. It wasn't that she was unfamiliar with sarcasm, or that she hadn't used it herself, but she hadn't been expecting it immediately upon the opening of the door. So, for just a moment, she took the Greek's question literally, which had her pondering the logistics of making deliveries to the Underworld, and if Hermes had arranged some sort of deal as he regularly traveled in and out of the realm as a psychopomp.
But then she was brought back to the conversation at hand by the final question: what was she doing here? Was that not obvious? Apparently not.
Holding out the cake plate, she offered, "Bringing you a chocolate-blood orange marble cake." What had the books said about making friends? Be clear in your intentions, that had been one of the rules, hadn't it? "To apologize." A smile tilted her lips. "For being an autistic gerbil."
The cool ground pressed against the bare foot reminded her, more forcefully than Styx's comments could have, of her disheveled condition. And she dearly wanted to ask if she could use the lavatory to put that to rights, but she feared that would be seen as rude. Again. So she held her tongue.