She watches him close as he speaks. Bristles some at the mention of clear minds. Is he implying hers isn't? How dare he. If anything she's the only one approaching this with all due caution. Were he south of twenty and far less wizened she'd chew him up and spit him out.

Her eyes flick from the sudden offering to his face. The beard might obscure some expression, so she only has a reliable read on his eyes. There doesn't seem to be anything hidden there. No mischief, no open derision.

Fukawa takes the apple in slender fingers. Her lips purse. She doesn't thank him.

"Then you're some kind of m-monk, I take it?" The apple turns in her hands. There's no blemishes she can see in the skin and it doesn't feel bruised. "Or an heir to some big d-dynasty."

Though she imagines you'd need a clear head for stuff like martial arts or pro sports, she's hoping it's one of her first guesses. This place was already teeming with meatheads. She was practically surrounded.

What a nightmare.