Rarden followed his crew to the table, quickly finding a seat and following Louis' gaze to the person he was questioning the fashion of. She was certainly easy to spot, for the ferocity of her hair's coloration and the sheer volume of violent red standing out amongst the restaurant interior. "We're in foreign lands, captain," he said, turning away from the sight and writing it off as just that in his head. He wasn't a dreamer by any means, but a part of him still expected that they would see something outlandish, maybe even more so than a woman's long hair, in the journeys. Reality was not often up to par, and neither were his captain's manners, he discovered moments later when Louis emptied his pocket onto the table and came up short. He flinched, visibly, in his chair, both irked and intensely impressed by his captain. "Aye, Caesar," he said, reaching into his shorts and rummaging around for change. He stopped cold, staring wide eyed at the table a moment before resuming his search. There was nothing in the itchy interior of his pockets. Slowly, tremblingly, his gaze crept up to his captain. The liability had been him all along. Here Louis was, paying for their meal and the one to finally drop the ball was Rarden Tacklit. "Captain... I'm short," he rattled, and slowly turned to Fitch.