[The novelty of the far-caster is that it's a strange sort of retro-futuristic version of a thing that had passed beyond living memory within Maeve's lifetime. Fiddling with it grants her some...intriguing insights into the people she's come to live among, however. As such, she can't help but reply to the man chowing down on a simply enormous sandwich.

She's faintly in awe of the sheer mess and his apparent comfort with it. The excess. The disregard. How.]

I get the impression that they're very, very big on very precise rules. Protocol, they call it.

[She's fascinated in a slow-motion-train-wreck, shouting-at-the-horror-movie-starlets-to-not-open-the-closet sort of way.]

So I should take it that you're not exactly big on the fundamentals of regular old etiquette in the first place?