[ Pentecost had removed his peacoat, setting it neatly over the ornate back of his chair. Had pinched back his sleeves a little, broad shoulders tense beneath the military dress uniform. The bars set into his collar and marching across his left breast glittered with each slightest movement; of which there was little. It's a moment before he replies to the small voice beside him. ]

... I think that utter strangers are going to great length, great expense, to keep the whole motley lot of us entertained.

[ He says it just a trifle heavily, and the implication is clear: he doesn't trust it. But he puts on a spare sliver of smile, gesturing to both their plates, the food untouched, as if to say, 'great minds'. Really, his eyes say it for him. ]

Yourself?