Her smile might be looking more than a little smirky at that.

"Sometimes our Mysterious Host does," she says, thinking of the all escapades around April Fools. Thinking mostly of the man who'd fought the most, fought like he'd been serumed, fought enough that she had to show that she wasn't normal.

"But joys of a civilian vessel."

Not that she's been solider for many (decades) years, and even then, in the heart of her country's fight for survival, there'd been long stretches of the peculiarly toxic boredom only war can bring. But there'd been a purpose. She's always had a purpose, even ones of her own making.

Here, she does not. And it's starting to bother her.