She notes the pointed way he turns his back on her but doesn't comment — if he's trying to convince her he's anything other than a terribly nice, conscientious man governed by deeply-held principles and a desire to do the right thing he's doing an absolutely terrible job of it — just lays out her things on the bed and sets to wrestling her armored suit off.

"If given the choice, I admit I wouldn't choose this shit over real clothes," she says as she finally gets the top unzipped and hauls it off over her head. She leaves her bra on before pulling her shirt on, just because she's gotten so used to wearing them that it would be strange not to, then quickly hauls on the trousers too. After adjusting the way things lie against her for a moment, she clears her throat and sets her hands on her hips.

"Well. How do I look?"