[There’s no way they’re both going to finish this gigantic assortment of fries (unless the other Displaced ends up having a much larger appetite than what Markus expected), piled up between them when Simon takes his seat. He had learned, in his months of living in an organic body, that the android-to-human transition meant that he was granted a blank-slate of a stomach, unused to heavy foods and fried confections. Too much of this and he’ll have a heck of a stomach ache later. Even the mini-tower of fries that he’s claimed as his own is only slowly growing smaller, with Markus possessing enough self-control to take his time.

Still, better that he orders too much rather than not enough. It’s comical, kind of, but they were cheap and he’s not going to be stingy if he’s invited someone out to meet him.]

I hated the cold.

[Rare that Markus hates anything, and rarer still that he says it so bluntly. But he hated the cold. Snow used to be aesthetically pleasing to him, and it still is, but now it’s laced with the terrible associations of numb fingers and a numb face, of a blizzard’s wind cutting through his layers of clothing. Falling off a hoverbike into a great, freezing knoll of white. Not a fun time.]

I don’t regret going, even if it wasn’t… planned. It was good to help people, but— Let’s just say I am glad to be back in New Amsterdam. What about you?

[What about you? asked casually, but his eyes are fastened to Simon’s body language, trying to preemptively ascertain how he’s been doing. An old habit.]