"Well, congratulations," Hannah said, amused that he'd elaborated. "Aren't you just the pinnacle of bachelor self-sufficiency?" Her voice, by contrast, was at full conversational volume and tinged with the same brashness she brought to just about everything. It was a defense mechanism in and of itself - the loud and clearly unapologetic self-expression, the sarcasm that was almost continuously dialed to eleven. Natural to a certain degree, but absolutely exaggerated and pulled to the fore by everything that had happened until it was a near-impenetrable shield.
Hannah, of course, believing that a good offense was the best defense.
A search of the fridge revealed her perfect candidiate - a tupperware containing some of those tasty meringue cookies with the filling, whatever the fuck they were called - with enough inside to make a decent snack but not so many that she couldn't empty it and feel bad for eating over the container and leaving crumbs. Grabbing what felt like a bottle of water, she nudged the fridge door shut with a tap of her foot and plopped down in a chair at the table. "So," she said, selecting a cookie. Chocolate, by the scent. "Who're you?" She didn't recognize the voice, which meant they hadn't spoken - not that she'd done a lot of that.