[ He shrugged, closed his one good eye, as if he was bearing a great burden. ]

And here I am, trying to make nice, being told these things. Then people wonder why I so often do not try.

[ Insult here, rebuttal there, a bit like a dance. The flush takes to the back of his neck, but he does his best to ignore it. Something about it, the cookie, settles odd in his stomach. Maybe it's because he's not used to the food, but...

Hm. ]

What if you... give it to me anyway? See what happens?

[ He drug his fingers across the desk, like he's leaving a stain in his wake. ]