Adelaide thinks of pointing out the fact that she did her time outside, when things first went bad and when they traveled down all the way from Boston with the world falling down around their ears. They saw plenty of the way things are then, but it's difficult to give an 'I've had it hard too' speech when your nails are painted a dusty pink without chips and there's half decent chili in your stomach. So instead she just smiles, shrugs up her shoulders. "It never was the same once Drogo was gone," she admits.
Then she grins at him, and thinks that probably if there's someone here in the Capitol who isn't too chicken to joke around with Thomas Lansing's wife it would be O'Brien. She decides to test the theory. "And who says your ass can't be charming?" she teases lightly. His next words, though, sober her up. Baby Thor on a motorcycle. If it wasn't for the box of letters, the two bodies found in a locked cell, and the prison ID on one of them, that description would have had curiosity burning through her. But that possibility is gone now, and Adelaide supposes that's what she is out here mourning.
So instead of that eager need for information, she has no trouble showing a casual curiosity. "No real reason," she says. "I guess I just think it'd be useful to know how to get a hold of a fella like that, if you ever needed to. Know his weak spots." She smirks a little bit. "I like knowing things. I didn't get myself set up in here by just being cute alone."