Fiddlesticks took the bullet proof heat resistant bowl of ice cream that was offered. "Wow, is there anything you can't do?" he asked the maid robot. "What make and model are you? I've never seen a robotic maid as advanced as you before. Are you like some kind of prototype or something? Who is your manufacturer? Are you able to turn into a pinball machine? Can you get poopy stains out of my underpants? Can you make me more ice cream whenever I want?" When Fiddlesticks was interested in something, he tended to spew forth avalanches of questions. Many found that trait annoying, some found it endearing. 

Fiddlesticks took a generous scoop of the meat ice cream then shovelled it into his gaping mouth. It tasted kinda like cold, bland roast beef, in cream form. He agreed with the robotic maid, the flavour was meh. Fiddlesticks decided to put the bowl of ice cream to the side. He didn't want to spoil his appetite. Speaking of which.

"When's the food gonna get here? It's already been six minutes." Fiddlesticks asked of nobody in particular.