He'll be polite company, allow Paul the dignity of keeping some of his rice, as much of a role he can play in that. Most of his has already been devoured beyond a few specks still on the leaf, a napkin that sits on a palm resting on his knee. He might not like mushrooms, but he'll devour anything else that's edible, taste not up for question.

(But he won't complain about this food, either - and not because he's had worse.)

What Paul tells him isn't any different from what he's already been told. It cements the rest, makes the obvious more so: that you go out and find something, just with fewer computers, and possibly resumes to go with it. Less criminal backgrounds to be looked up and to get in the way, with your face known by everyone in town who happened to be paying attention to the news.

"Nothing interesting. Did a job cleaning; just somethin' to get me by." What he could manage to get, what wouldn't eat up his time. Some pocket change, in the midst of sleeping on floors, trying to rely less on charity. He's being careful though; knows he can't mention being busy with other things without needing to make dodges, skirt around possible questions ('Like what?', 'Like a karate tournament').

So there's a pause, a look down, but an expression that doesn't change as Robby looks back at Paul, a smile comfortably at ease on his face. "Lot less exciting than ships."

But he does know to pull his smile down, a sympathetic edge of what could've occurred there, not willing to act like it's all jokes. And not what he'll end on, either. "But, good to know; I'll keep looking. The sea's not for me," and he looks down, nods for the netting that he actually means, "but it's got a good view. For now."

He's content - with what might be the lie of peace in the setting, the sounds and surroundings, but it gives some sense of preparation, time. People he'll need to eventually see.