Conversations, sometimes, remind him of the control console of a starship. It's up to you to pay attention to what's going on - look for the alerts, of which, some are benign and some are very important to correct immediately. The thing of it is, he's a lot better at being a pilot than he is at conversations.

Sometimes he misses a warning he should have noticed sooner. Sometimes he oversteers. Something about the way things went just before the subject changed to pears makes him wonder if he missed something. The look on those roguish features suggests a slight confusion and maybe a touch of sadness, but it doesn't keep long. There's food to be talking about ...

"I'm gonna take one." He says, matter of factly. You don't lay things out like this for them not to be taken - he'd suppose - but the idea of a party has always felt strange to him even when he was at them.

He grabs another plate and a fork. Helps himself to one of the bigger portions of the baked fruit and scans around the room. Now that they're both gonna be carrying food maybe they should sit down? That's what he thinks.

"Let's go somewhere and eat."