She researched the contents of the kitchen already, as habit forced her to. This beverage was tea, made from dried leaves of a flowering shrub. It contained small amounts of a naturally occurring stimulant. Apparently, Earth natives drink it all the time.

She's never been much good at fitting into civilian life, not the way humans do it. They take everything for granted. They've never lived by their reflexes and the skills fused to their skin. But a pleasant smell eminates from Peach's sitting room -- possibly from the prepared tea, although more likely from sweetened baked goods -- and their smiles imply that all is well. Join us, Zelda asks? Samus can't think of a reason not to.

And the room is pink, so uselessly lacy and pink, but she has a good vantage point with her back to a wall and all exits visible. Tablecloth clutters around her knees. Freshly prepared food and beverages have a depth of flavour that she forgets about, and is impressed by each time. Zelda has no shortage of soft, well-thought comments; Peach is quick to smile, and slower to think but slow for the sake of doing it properly. They refill cups. There's some ritual behind pouring another person's beverage, or possibly hundreds of rituals. Shreds of lore swim behind her eyes. She eventually tells them an anecdote of ancient Chozo templars with primitive rituals involving cups of heated water, thousands of years before any of their births; Peach and Zelda listen with a fascination bordering on delight.

She has a match at 16:00. She leaves the gathering seven minutes later than she'd planned, full in a way that doesn't match the delicate foods she's had. Humans gather like that all the time, she imagines, when the surroundings are comparatively safe and friends wish them present. She's had people, but nothing she'd quite define as a friend. Not before now.

As she slides the Power Suit back on, and reactivates it, Samus comes to the conclusion that she likes tea.