Straight into it, indeed. Mikasa'd always been known for being rather... efficient but she wasn't trying to be so brusque on purpose. It's too late to backpedal for a warmer greeting now so she chews her lip, thinking too hard about the question at hand.

Running her fingers absentmindedly over the tail end of her scarf, "Gray," And after a moment, she realizes she ought to offer some sort of an explanation, "It reminds me of a storm." The color of the sky the day the first Kaiju attacked, she was still very young, but she'd never forget the gray of the sky, the twisted metal of the damaged city.

Pulling herself out of her memories, she clears her throat awkwardly, "I haven't really thought about questions like these very much."