Rose couldn't help herself. She giggled at his comment. "Yeah, I am. Originally, anyway." Her dad lived further out of the city, but she'd barely spent much time there anyway. And she wasn't sure it counted if it was an entirely different dimension. "Been doing a lot of traveling since then, but the accent's not going away any time soon." And he was, after all, decidedly British, so it might not do him any harm to hear some familiar sounds.
"Technology's come a long way," she pointed out as they entered the kitchen. It had to come as a bit of a shock to him, but there was some in his own flat so he was bound to have at least seen it. "The microwave here is going to be your best friend. Promise. You can heat up most any meal in minutes and never touch an oven."
She wandered around the kitchen, listening to him talk with a smile on her face. "There's classes you can take on fighting the evil bits if you're interested, and they range in complexity. But really, so long as you're living here, you're mostly safe." Only mostly. Because Lawrence could never truly be safe.
Of course, then she happened to catch the cigarette and shot him a warning glare. "No way. No smoking inside." Well, she didn't know if that was an actual policy, but it could be for the moment. "You know those things will kill you, right?" Yes, fine. She was one of the only girls from the Powell Estate who didn't light up every other minute, but there you had it. "There's a roof upstairs or you can step outside. Secondhand smoke is a killer!"
Now she was going to try and lecture the poor bloke in one hundred years of cigarette safety. Brilliant.