In her room, there's a small area dedicated for sitting, separated from her (small) bedroom and (equally small) bath. In the sitting area, there's a couch somewhere between the size of a loveseat and a full-size sofa. Her seat is a chair by the fire, a table with a piece of paper and pencil on top. The paper is a sketch of a necklace; nowhere near as good as Bree can draw, but decent. Everything is modest, typical of farm life.

"I've...learned some about ocular surgery." Claire isn't sure what he knows in regards to her. She's worked out already that he must be from her future. But the rest remains a mystery that she isn't allowing her mind to ponder.

"But you have options, John," she invites him to sit, and then moves to pour each of them a glass of wine, made in Solvunn. Interrupting herself, she pulls her hair down and removes the scarf, freeing curls that are less gray and more touched with the shade, here and there. "Please excuse my impropriety," Claire says, completely unapologetically.