[ The common area is littered with the Nest's individual presences. While their rooms provide some sort of personal haven, there is always, always their connection. It's like a stain on his person, something he can't scrub out of his head the way he could scrub the fruit's insides off of his hands. Something bursts between his fingers, and he pulls a thumb free to reposition and tear into the thing, peeling it apart. At least he's contained the mess by leaning over the sink. ]

Ahh. [ He says, in response to Clint's gesture. There is that, indeed.

-- and his own eyes are drawn down to his hands, unconsciously following the path of Clint's, as if suddenly aware of the macabre result of his gutting innocent fruit. ]

So, you're saying that you don't enjoy sharing your innermost thoughts and feelings among strangers.

[ Was that a joke? Oh, that was a joke. His mouth has twisted the way Clint's has, humor dry, but present. He nods his head towards the machine that Clint is operating, and the promising smell of coffee. ] Would you make me a cup as well? If we're to share our awareness, I'd prefer to get to know you as you'd say to someone who doesn't share a mind.

[ So. Over a cup of coffee. ]