In many ways, Hawke prefers living in the inn to her old mansion. When she first moved in it seemed like a marvelous idea, but after time sleeping in ditches, the simplicity of this place is much more attractive. And no one banging on her door trying to make trouble. No one trying to kill her (today). Things could be much worse! She's rather cheerful as she walks into the kitchen, also looking for food. She'd chomp on something all day if she could. She's always a bit peckish, and running around the wilderness lately has dragged out a lot of energy.

She yawns and starts putting together her own plate. She's going hunting at some point, and will wisely try to clean her kills up before stocking the place. It's a process, but it makes her feel useful. Hawke glances over to see a woman she doesn't recognize, and she watches her curiously for a moment. She smiles and takes her food right over, not asking if she could sit, because she's obnoxiously friendly that way, and she's used to communal benches and meals.

"I appreciate someone who takes the time to eat each bite. Probably wiser than how I scarf it down like a maniac. My mother used to give me such trouble. You're still technically a lady, Marian, stop eating like the dog." Her impression of her classy mother is spot on, but it would have to be after these years. Inwardly it's a wound not even close to healing, but she finds joking about the parts she misses is the best route.