This was what she thought as she regarded Alia Atreides over her bowl of goo. Blue-within-blue eyes met like ones as she gulped the disgusting stuff. She could have taken it to the sensoriums of course, fooled her senses into thinking it was the finest slig stew and spicebread.
That was not the Bene Gesserit way though. They were here, conscripts and refugees in an interdimensional war, not dining in the finest halls of [Arak]Keen, not sorrounded by the scent of incense and the whispers of courtesans. This organic yet utilitarian cafeteria was their reality now.
She put the bowl down on the bonelike table and grinned up at the imposing Atreides. She was sure Alia knew that. The woman was known for the lovers she took. She had other ways of distracting herself, ones even the best simulations could not truly provide.
She waited, drawing out the tension to see what she had to say.