"Didn't you?" Rus asks, surprised. "You should have said. I would have shared with you."
He takes a couple of deep breaths to get himself back under control.
"Wouldn't it though," Rus murmurs. "And what I could do with it!" He blinks. "Sure it was," he says jovially, not buying it for an instant. "Well, some splash of colour wouldn't hurt. A handkerchief or an ascot or something."
Rus shrugs and grins and eats more cake.
"You're saying the dead aren't terrifying?" A raised eyebrow. "It's degenerated over the years then."
Rus listens, various expressions on his face. A grin and a nod for the praise, a frown for the mention of cartoons, then an wide-eyed stare at the pasty. He ponders for just a moment, then turns to the waiter with a broad grin. "I'd love it and do thank him for me. Two more beers, a proper dessert for my friend and yes please, the cheque. I have an important errand to run this evening." He picks up his cake fork and stabs it (perhaps with a tad more violence than necessary) into the pasty.
>:D Is this the culinary equivalent of throwing down the gauntlet? ;)