Mona gave Ian an impish grin. "Leave that for the maintenance guys, dearest," she said. "It's a waste of your precious time." She tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. "Don't take it out on the terrible, innocent coffee."

She straightened up. "I, personally, would not object to several scones. No pressure."

Mona eyed Enrico, stretched out a little too comfortably on the couch (which was certainly infected with something; what, she hadn't determined, and didn't plan on it). "Don't you get too comfortable. Especially on that thing," she added cryptically.

"What's the matter, Chri--Tristan? Too small? Crowded? Et cetera et cetera?"