Surprising no one, Karen is irritated by this spring morning breakfast feast. She's taking advantage of it, to be sure — She climbed down off her high horse in that regard a long time ago. But it feels like a disingenuous apology, like a treat given to a child so they'll forget the spanking you gave them earlier.

Still, it's food, and it smells so good, and the truth is she's got a lot more pressing things on her mind at the moment than trying to untangle their overseers' questionable motivations in providing them pastries.

It's only because she's juggling a plate piled high along with a cup of coffee and a mimosa that she misses the large, fluffy purple animal sidling up to Claire. Karen carefully slides her items onto the table, huffs out a pleased sigh, and then glances up, freezing.

It's probably the cutest damned thing she's ever seen, even though it looks like it was created from the drawings of a five-year-old.

"Holy shit."