[Anyway. Ah. Actually having to think of himself as having any sort of game is wild, and he instantly turns red, right to the tips of his ears. His mouth opens and closes uselessly for a good few seconds, until he grunts dismissively and starts patting himself down for a cigarette. Sorry bread, you are discarded onto a washing machine, right beside Midnight because bro please eat.

And for Sylvain's trouble, he receives a glower.]

I mean, it just seems like common sense, that part. Experience doesn't even come into it. There's, uh...Nothing more to it.

'Least not what I can provide.