Her description is matter of fact, even if it doesn't offer any logic. It is the way it is, and whether or not the two of them agree with it doesn't seem to matter. It's the first time she's heard much of anything resembling Olinger's initial assertion that women were underestimated, and that it's coming from a woman rather than an officer makes sense. Willa's lips purse into a smile at the offer of a diagram. It's a joke, she knows, but it wouldn't be amiss either. "Where do we fall in the mess, then?" she asks while she really wonders who Noa's ex must be to land them in the same ranks, and -- "Do you like hot chocolate?"
Willa's finger points over her shoulder toward the kitchenette; the supplies that had been left in it were minimal which isn't a surprise given the nature of a vintage holiday camper, but the provisions that had survived included a stockpile of s'mores fixings from the days before the gas that now bore the name. It took longer than powder or syrup, but Willa had discovered on her second night in her new home just how to turn Hershey bars and milk into a relic from the past. If she'd had some of Cal's instant coffee, it might have made her wistful for a Starbucks grande mocha.