All these cryptic crosstalk! If Lucrezia knew no better, she would think they are in the middle of a consistory with old men in red skirts waxing poetic about everything and nothing at all. Mostly nothing.

She gives them the benefit of the doubt and tells herself it must be too early for weightier conversations. She goes to her seat on her seat on the opposite end of the table from Joshua, like proper hosts, granting the maid a cheery smile when poured a cup of tea even as she drums her fingers against the table somewhat impatiently. Mostly at her guests' quietness. She wanted this to feel more like a party.

"Waffles should be no issue. Or eggs and sausages and toasts," she nods to the maid to confirm her order. Yes, that's a roundabout way of telling someone to do something for her. "What else would you like? Steak?" To Spike, of course.