He could read body language easily, and he considered hers even as he picked up his drink. He chilled it just by touching it, but he did it in a smooth, unconscious movement, before knocking the drink back. She looked like someone who wanted to talk; chatty people had that look about them. Or maybe he was being unkind.

"I suppose I have," he said. Finding out your mother was not, in fact, dead, but also last saw you when you were a small child, was vaguely off putting, though not exactly unpleasant. "No, I'm fine," he said. "I don't... really eat." Well, he did, but he felt hunger differently. He was a godly being, and food was more for pleasure than sustenance, though it was sometimes that as well.