[She gives a quiet chuckle before curling her feet underneath her.] Let's just say it can't compare to anything you've written. [Maybe space thrillers just aren't her thing. Or maybe it was the overabundance of odd colloquialisms that were getting to her. That's what she gets when she picks up a novel written by a name she can't even pronounce.

She tosses the book onto the coffee table, and twists slightly so she faces him.]

Find any ink to go with that typewriter of yours? [It wasn't a push for him to write something.] Or are they cheapskates that can't afford it?