[They could just ask, but must of Rahu's inquiries lately have leaned to the side of interrogation. Any way she asked would probably just come across as some kind of shakedown. Besides, the prospect of getting answers is rapidly becoming less appealing by the moment. She should notice something is amiss the moment she thinks about the unidentifiable fruit, the idea of identifying the spontaneous burst of nectar on her tongue, and thinks, why even would I care?]

It's hot, isn't it? [The food, she means. She can only assume that the skewer Hilda holds has a similar spice level. Fingers itching to brush a strand of hair behind the flushed shell of Hilda's ear, Rahu looks away to quell the sudden and almost irresistible impulse.

Her brow lifts at the offered skewer - more so at the thought that now, suddenly, mess is the problem.] What was that you were saying about mess before? I'm used to dirtying my hands when I have to.

[She bows her head the small distance necessary to take a bite lower down on the stack, much closer to Hilda's fingers than is necessary.]