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Chel shrugged nonchalantly. "This ain't Iron Chef man, I don't got none of that stuff. Just use another bowl or somethin'." Chel had done her job of owning the kitchenette; it was Gretchen's responsibility to make the thing because Chel was way too lazy. Sorry Gretchen.

Lukas suggested the same thing and she gave him a gesture of approval. Laziness won always.

"Most people like food, Mr. Mysterious," she chided, clearly disapproving his unwillingness to socialize. "You got a past you can't talk about too? Kill me f'you told me?"

"I don't think murderers are uncommon enough on this island to joke about, are they?" As he said it, Lukas's eyes flicked up to Chel's face again, raked over the scars almost meaningfully -- and, at long last, he dragged the smile up to his mouth, just a little too wide, not quite genuine. His smile had a lot of teeth in it.

"It's kind of our job."

Gretchen, well aware of the slight rise in tension, opted not to interject herself into the conversation at hand. Her opinion wouldn't have been altogether helpful in any case.

Instead she met Chels' gave for a brief second, before moving towards the indicated cabinet so she could grab down a pair of bowls that looked like they would work well for what she had in mind. "Controlled chaos, isn't it called?" She teased, smiling as she upended the package of cookies into the bowl. With a soft hum set the other inside it, and started mashing the contents.

"I've never made'em like this, should be work. Even if they're lumpy thay'll still taste good, I think."