[ a moment that lasts approximately half of sixty seconds before alois looks up, finally taking note of the egg having turned into little more than bits in his hand. not a single bite had been taken, and he frowns at it, clapping his palms together to brush them clean, rubbing his fingers. ]
No. Even if I do suspect you have more taste buds than something made of springs and metal, it would be rude. Perhaps, one of these days we could throw a party. [ egg likes to cling. he seeks out a cloth napkin. ] Maybe Ciel will let us throw it in his house. But, then, no one would ever be satisfied with meals here at all again, would they?