"I was thinking of like, a badass skull. Maybe with flames or something. You know. Tasteful," she says with a crooked little smirk, inviting the conspirational knowledge that they're both aware it wouldn't be tasteful. She's aiming for sick and in your face, no subtlety here.

"Although you've kinda got a point. I've already spent the best part of eighteen years staring at skulls. You'd think I'd be sick of it by now," she won't admit to the embarrassing fact that now there are so few skulls in evidence, she kinda misses the familiarity.