Foster looks.... confused. Bewildered, honestly. He has no ideas what that look is for; did he do something, say something wrong?

He must have, because there's no other way to interpret this. His face creases pathetically in consternation and defeat. "Yes. Yes, that's..."

He's so frustrated. It's not what he wants. Or it is, but that's not the question, and he doesn't like giving such a.... such a wrong answer. He hates being asked what he wants because it's never been about what he wants, it's not about what he wants, he hates that question because every answer is a lie.

"Please." He tries again, desperate to get off that one wrong, misleading question--

"Don't ask me. Just... just use me."

His tone is... not very agreeable.