Laura takes a handful of potato chips and crams it into her mouth without thought to crumbs or having to chew with her mouth slightly open for a moment as she takes in the new spectator. Blue hair, young. No stealth. She swallows with a sniff and throws the bag on the floor.

Threat level: zero. On to the pickles. When one proves hard to open with hand alone, she pops a claw from between the knuckles of one hand and slices the lid off.