That moment of silence is torture. So much so that she can't really suss out what it's about. Vanya's not a demon, though certain adopted fathers might disagree, and she can't imagine coming off as one. It's just that she feels like one. Rather, like there's one hiding inside her, forever cognizant of her torment, ready to bring it to light the second she lets her guard down enough to let it. She doesn't need a(n ex-) priest, she needs a therapist. Preferably one that knows something about discovering latent superpowers. Since that doesn't exist, her support comes from her family, her friends.

Still, he makes her laugh, a full sound that surprises her enough that she feels the need to tuck a side of her hair behind her ears in a reflexive semblance of composure.

"I like the playing music part," she feels the need to say, not just because he's a donor or enthusiast or whatever, but because it's one of the deepest, gentlest truths about her: music is the power imbued herself with. And she loves it as deeply as she loves her family.

"There's a place around the corner with some good food," she adds, swallowing hard since she's afraid Marcus is digging for something or won't let her hedge her obvious discomfort for long. She tries to focus on something positive, something not-her. "I've never been, but one of my brothers really likes it."