He takes the bottle and sticks it under his arm as he sets the pizza box on the bed next to Jack. The smell of the open box is enough to make him nostalgic for Alveare, but he tries to ignore that as he tears off a piece to offer to Jack and one for himself.

"I don't know how they make it here, but it's worth tryin'."

Firo bites in and chews appreciatively. He too is damn glad to have food around. His situation had been luckier, not by too much; having the concern of starving alleviated, at least for the immediate moment, is a relief.

And seeing a smile is a reassurance as well; it's a little easier to return it now.

His true frustration is hard to hide, though, when he responds. The sarcasm is thick enough to choke on. "Why not? I know I can't wait to hear about how disappointin' my 'performance' was. Or maybe they'd talk about important things, like what color the fuckin' curtains should be."

Agitated, he gestures wildly with his free hand, just barely keeping from dropping the bottle.