"It was her favorite room of the house," she agrees. "She loved to bake." Her gaze softens as she focuses on her cup of coffee, lifting it up for a sip. Her memories of her grandmother are special things, untouched by the war. "I think she would have liked you, too. She certainly wouldn't have let you leave without a slice of cake."

The thought of boiling leather for consumption makes her wrinkle her nose in disgust. "No, thank goodness. It wouldn't work, either, the leather we wear is treated with all sorts of chemicals, it'd likely poison us." She sighs and slices off another bit of cake. "We've been lucky, we haven't starved yet. But we've lost our access to the algae vats that were on New Caprica, so we might face that problem sooner rather than later."