[The comment about her biceps has her flashing a grin, crooked and pleased, and she winks-- it's precisely the kind of attention she'd been hoping a theme song might garner. There's a brief moment where her eyes go distant whilst the smile remains, both wine and cake temporarily forgotten as she indulges in a flight of girlish fancy. Girlish, in that it involves a small crowd of buxom young local women gathered about her, asking her to flex. One of them leans in close, lashes lowered over limpid eyes, and whispers-- your biceps, they're eleven out of ten.

But soon he's asking his startled question, and there's no more time for daydreaming. Sad times.]

Yeah...is that weird? Hardly anyone does it the vintage way anymore. And honestly, why the fuck would you want to? Man, I've heard some horror stories about biological childbirth, no fucking thank you. Most places just grow 'em in an incubator, you know? Safer and waaay less gory. Not Drearburh though. We don't have access to that kinda tech.