Potpie - so that's what that horrid culinary atrocity was called. It's only been three days and their captors were already repeating meals. Momo sighed as she looked at the tray the nurse had carried with her and sighed even more when she realized she really would need to eat the think. She was still tired, very cold and achy.

After requesting several glasses of water, claiming intense thirst (which wasn't far off from the truth), Momo pulled her own jacket out of her closet and slipped it on. Having one that fit her was much easier to move in even if it wasn't quite as warm as Signum's. Perhaps that extra warmth was less due to the coat itself and more due to it belonging to her friend - one could never tell how much an item's association effected someone's perception of it.

With a small glare at the potpie and it's accompanying food, the shinigami dug into it. She choked on the first bite, the taste and texture reminding her how much she missed simple rice, but she swallowed it down and methodically worked on the rest of it, drinking ample water as she ate.

She'd save one glass of water so she could clean her sword once she was done with the food. She was fairly certain she'd keep it down, even if she didn't care for the taste one bit. Food was food and after the previous night, the shinigami needed her strength.