It's a strange sort of midnight rendezvous, this. Some might consider it indecent, the offer, and even more so the fact that the seemingly older man obliges it, that he steps inside and closes the door behind him to confine their conversation to the cornered walls of standard military housing. Once inside, the accommodations are almost prisonlike: the distinct lack of windows add to the Spartan atmosphere, though their absence is for Eli's safety rather than an attempt to wear her down.

Venom wonders how she can live like this. Sequestered. Like a toy in a tin can.

He lingers by the entrance before straying towards one half of a discarded horse, kneeling by it to run metal over metal.

"Couldn't sleep?"

An obvious question, to lend normalcy to their collective insomnia. There is nothing particularly special about either one of their inability to rest, and a reminder of that is meant to be soothing in its morbidity.

He lays the piece of bronze back onto the floor, empty eyes facing the wall.

"...Your hair's wet."