Eyes fell upon the two pilots, in their corner tables, and briefly the Parlay quieted. Besca watched, tight-lipped and intent, but stayed where she was. Dahlia’s leg bounced anxiously, and like Quinn she hadn’t touched her meal, either—something that had not gone unnoticed by the Helburkans. Whether this was to be taken as a grievous offense, or a sign that their message was having its exact intended effect, was unclear. 

Roaki seemed annoyed by the silence. She held her fork like a dagger, slammed it down onto the meat hard enough for the metal to screech and the table to shake. The Helburkan side quickly resumed their own meals, and though she shot murderous glances to the Runans who continued staring, she eventually returned to her food. 

“[color=ec008c]Hate this shit, hate waiting,[/color]” she grumbled, and having skewered the entire cut of boar through, she lifted it up and bit out a chunk. “[color=ec008c]Do it back home, too. Waste of fuckin’ time. Why the fuck do they want us to eat together? Look at you, you’re already scared shitless, so, what? Am I supposed to scare the shit back into you? Stupid.[/color]”

She barely looked at Quinn then, gray eyes focused down on her plate. Her cut was rare, almost bright red, but she managed to chew through it like wax. Blood and juice dribbled down her chin, stained her shirt. She didn’t seem to care. 

“[color=ec008c]So why the fuck is Runa here? Didn’t you guys just get mulched?[/color]”