Scott and Peggy
No blood had been shed during the meal, that much was true. They'd all managed to have relatively civil discourse, established that their mutual goals really weren't so disparate after all, and pushed around some perfectly lovely food rather than eat anything that might sit too heavily in the stomach. Walking away from the table, Peggy almost felt bad for the Avox, who'd clearly put effort into the meal only to have to whisk it all away as the other guests dispersed to individual conversations and separate corners.
Then again, at least he had something to accomplish. Watching the others, Peggy wondered what else might be done as easily as cleaning a tabletop. Their needs were great. The odds were terrible. But at least there was a definitive understanding that they, as a group, had very little to lose when death was almost a guaranteed certainty. That did clear things up in a way, establishing very firm priorities.
That was why she couldn't claim surprise when Scott approached her, cheeks flushed from the wind outside and the faint scent of smoke clinging to him. Peggy tilted her head, dark eyes solemn, and managed a faint smile. "I'd like to think of it as temporarily housing a refugee," she replied. It would be only for the sake of safety, for eliminating one thing that Scott had to worry about so he could better attend to his survival. "But yes, of course. I hear that your daughter's at school here. I attended something similar, you know."
Perhaps he didn't. But that was why they were meeting, wasn't it? Sharing information. Seeing where the resources really were.