It smelled heavenly. On board the Ragnarok, Connie was generally up too late practicing, studying, or puzzling over MogNet glitches to grab anything but the scraps remaining from when the horde of newcomers descended upon the ship's poor cooks.

Connie sits down in an unoccupied booth, absentmindedly tucking a strand of hair that had come loose during their spar behind her hair as she peruses the menu. "So, um, I know this is probably an awkward question to ask a lalafell, but since we didn't really have any back home and it's hard to tell... how old are you? Definitely older than me, but I'm curious."