Sonya, being lost in her own little world, looked up with surprise. Russians had a word for the chaotic hustle and bustle of crowds in everyday life. It was something which had prepared her well for the streets of Las Vegas, but food? Food was something of a territorial matter and she reared back head, eyes crossing into nose in an attempt to visually lock onto the gestured snapping.
It was such an unexpected, contradictory gesture, that her eyes quickly darted between the clacking instrument and his smiling face with a mixture of defensive startle and intrigued marvel.
"No...! No, you are not takings!"
Impulsively, she had chosen to give emphasis to her denial with a snapped crab claw.