[ It's quite the command. A question, but with enough of the accumulated air of somebody who won't be taking any shit from him today to come across almost as an order. He peels away from the stove to face her, body still half-twisted to keep a hand on the pan handle as his brows raise with the first impression she's making—
And his answer comes after a beat, plain and simple. ]
BLTs. [ And then, another moment later because this station is full of people from all over and not all of them can be expected to know what that is - ] Bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich. If you'll promise not to stab me I can make another.
[ There's a pinch that's (barely) trying not to become a smirk at the corner of his mouth as his gaze flicks briefly down to the hand at her knife-ready hip and back up again. ]
no subject
And his answer comes after a beat, plain and simple. ]
BLTs. [ And then, another moment later because this station is full of people from all over and not all of them can be expected to know what that is - ] Bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich. If you'll promise not to stab me I can make another.
[ There's a pinch that's (barely) trying not to become a smirk at the corner of his mouth as his gaze flicks briefly down to the hand at her knife-ready hip and back up again. ]