[ imagine this: tetora, proud killer of his sworn enemies, cheekily proficient in the ways of bombs and guns and knives, is blushing at the tips of his ears. (it's not his cheeks, thank fuck, but it's a close thing.) ]

I don't think anyone thought to cook, much less set up a mess hall thing like this. So, uhm. Thank... you.

[ there's a bit of an awkward silence now, as he nurses bowl he's holding. he's not sure where to put down his trash, either - and he can't be a pleasant smell, he's been through fight, fire, and garbage. this isn't a great first impression. ]

Uh.

I'm not tired yet, I've got adrenaline to burn through. Is there anything I can help you with?