[ There's something surprising, and embarrassing, about having someone apologize to him for being rude--honestly he hadn't really taken it that way to begin with, but given his own nature, and his inability to bite his tongue, he almost feels like he should be adamantly waving off the apology. Even as the stranger places the fish on the plate in front of him, his gaze is drawn up to him; he swallows, embarrassed, and bobs his head slightly. ]

Don't worry about it. You're right. Some people never get past what the company wants. Some people are different.

[ It's not like Shinra had any shortage of those willing to fight for them--then again, needing a paycheck can sometimes be an easy incentive.

Carefully, he picks up a fork to start gently cutting into the fish; his gaze jerks up, then back down again, and he clears his throat, faintly. ]

You want to sit? Seems unfair for you to stand the whole time. [ Cooking or not. ] As for the weapon, it's definitely a sword.

[ Something pulls at him: a thought, a memory, someone's voice, an urging. His brows knit together faintly, but he can't quite shake it entirely; with a breath, he forces himself to take a bite of the fish. It's delicious, a nice balance with the bit of lemon flavor, and it helps cut through his own unease at himself. ]