"Chicken's eggs. No," Cesare says tersely. As if the availability of stupid eggs reflected on his character! "And I don't see you wearing anything sash-like." Miquel makes a shooey motion, a sort of mingle already, be useful, will you? and eventually Cesare does trudge off to fetch a sheet and scissors.
Miquel doesn't want to watch, doesn't want to intrude, yet their proximity draws tugs at his heartstrings. When Cesare takes an awfully long time, he mumbles an embarrassed permesso and fades to look for him.