It was some sort of injustice that he still looked gorgeous. That that goddamn accent was some sort of soothing lullaby to the shite she'd had to hear lately. Not that she didn't mind listening to Remy talk all day, oh no, he had one of those eat you alive accents, too.
Keeping her arms around herself left they fly about Michael's frame, she rolled her eyes over the donuts, her laugh short and dry. "Sure, why not? Milk still decent?" Already she was moving past him to grab plates and napkins, finding such things based off memory and briefly hating herself for having known.