"Hmmm," was all she offered as she slid past him to peer into the refrigerator. Finding nothing satisfactory she moved on to the cabinets, opening and closing them one by one. There wasn't a single thing to eat. Or rather, there wasn't a single thing that wouldn't require effort on her part and probably end up with a flaming stove or a sparking toaster or an exploding microwave or any number of kitchen disasters of which she could possibly conceive. She returned to her original position, leaning on a counter, and turned her patented pout on Clint. "Can you cook, Mister fought-a-lot-of-people?"