[ They both know that it's a lie, or... that it's an excuse. He's right in that she doesn't enjoy violence (she can't imagine anyone enjoying it, though she knows those people do live and breathe. But she does want to be able to protect herself and the people she cares about. She didn't much enjoy losing her soul to a dog-monster, either.

In the silence of bubbling soup, she tries not to burst into a flurry of more questions. A quick glance over her shoulder tells her that he's eating, at least.

Before too long, she walks back over and pours out a second bowl for him (or third? Whatever it is, it hadn't been enough) and one for herself before settling down. ]

I wish we could have a loaf of bread. Something really fresh.

[ It would go well with the soup! ]

What kind of food do they have in New York? I mean, is there something that they're more known for?