The Not French is funny when he laughs, like an old engine choking. She grins in response, and starts unfastening the buttons of one of the Ander soldier's uniform jackets, pulling it off and affording him little dignity in the process, as she shrugs it on, inhaling the scent of the uniform as she does. Sweat, tobacco, something oddly sweet that makes her start inspecting the pockets with more interest. The jacket is far too big for her, hangs off her shoulders, but she's Working It.

Aha. And the sweet smell was some caramels in wax paper, which she starts unceremoniously shovelling into her mouth. But Marcoulf laughed, so she sidles up next to him, and holds out the packet in offering (holding onto the base so he can take one, but not the whole packet. Not the whole packet, Marcoulf.)