[Julien sweeps by with a tray of champagne and pauses, his palps twitching, to offer her a bread roll as soft as cotton wool, and consequently kind of squashed. He'd palmed it earlier and snuck it into a pocket, something from someone else's plate that had gone uneaten.]
Here, Reira. Eat something, won't you?
[They'd all been hungry. He has to feed them before it goes bad.]
no subject
Here, Reira. Eat something, won't you?
[They'd all been hungry. He has to feed them before it goes bad.]
Please.