She nods, an all business expression on her face, as he starts to ascend the ladder.

"Think I can handle that."

Before she sets to it, however, she examines the styrofoam cup.

Foam? Honestly?

It's just barely warm against her gloved fingers, which surprises her. She wonders why it doesn't melt.

There's a telltale bitter scent to the otherwise rich aroma, so she carefully pops off the lid (because the tiny spout intimidates her, just a bit) and takes a deep breath.

And a small sip.

And her jaw sets, ever-so-unhappily, as she busies herself with the grain, coffee abandoned just as she had found it.