[Fitz's smile topples in one direction, not crooked because it's roguish but crooked because it's half there. The distinction isn't particularly clear, but it doesn't matter. He takes a seat and pokes at the food.]
Turnip mash I could deal with. Or horse oats.
Or even horse.
How did you luck out?
[He pokes at the main portion of the gruel, and opts to break the bread open instead, offering Cassian half.]
no subject
Turnip mash I could deal with. Or horse oats.
Or even horse.
How did you luck out?
[He pokes at the main portion of the gruel, and opts to break the bread open instead, offering Cassian half.]