@KATAIGISNOX ,
how noisy—
—is the only throught actively lingering in mithra's mind. one hand curled around a slab of meat (surprisingly, cooked—something worth applauding the wizard for, really, for his bountiful patience) and the other brandishing some sea creature, shell and all.
there's a chip in the shell: something suspiciously and dangerously shaped as though someone might have taken a curious bite out of it. the remaining taste of sand and something crunchy at the back of mithra's mouth is, of course, only sheer coincidence.
but he isn't complaining about the food. certainly not the grating, almost inhuman, noise of the shards of shell left in his mouth (crrrrchh, crrrrrnnnch, ccruuuunch).
no; he's a patient person. almost managnimous in spirit. it takes a great deal to get on his nerves, of course—but the poor shopkeep at the market stand is coming dangerously close, teeth chattering and eyes darting nervously back and forth as they harp the same thing over and over again: "your payment, sir..?"
fate is a bit of a finicky concept, and mithra is inclined to believe that it has been nothing but a chore to him. but he shelves the immediate spike in bloodlust that surges through his veins when he catches sight of a familiar face, just steps away.
out of courtesy for this overcooked slab of meat, and the delightfully textured sea creature he is enjoying, he refrains from "causing a scene." instead, he points—one hunk of meat dangling gracelessly in his hand, acting as an arrow of sorts—in none other than oz's direction.
"oh. you can trouble this weak looking person for payment."
