It's enough that Shepard is considering relocating her perennial pillow fort to the Roof. She just... Can't stay inside, anymore. But then she can't stay outside, can't stay anywhere; she wants to keep moving. Shepard begins to hope that the upcoming crowning will lead into another arena as swiftly as the last, if only so that she can do something.

Leave it to the Capitol to ruin the only thing that made it bearable-- she doesn't even feel safe drinking here, anymore. Which is one of the infamous excesses to which this place was meant to be dedicated, goddammit. The speed with which her liver had purged the after-effects was disgusting. Is disgusting. Whatever.

"Hey," She shoots across, when Cullen doesn't break the silence, "So. Had your first arena. Ready for round two?"

She's not naturally cruel, no. It had to be trained into her over the course of a lifetime. But she could be worse.