The sound surprise him every time: that gritty yet squelchy splat, followed by a strange wobbly sound.

Pen used to be starving, but he wasn't any more. Eyes glazed over as he walked over to an open seat, he set his tray down, still trying to gauge what color his food was and what color it used to be.

Of course, at this hour, the mess hall wasn't exactly packed. Anyone with any smarts had already gotten up early and snuck over to Undertown, or was on their way. Regretting his rare burst of responsible thinking, Pen muttered nonsense quietly, mentally grumbling, [i][color=darkred]I can't eat this: you'd have to be drunk or dying. Actually I'd still probably turn my nose up then.[/color][/i]

[color=007236]"I can tell ya feel the same lad, 'ahmean who actually enjoys this drool? Naw us men need real food, meats and strong drinks. Whadya say?"[/color]

Pen blinked for a moment, looking up at the large man who's stature didn't quite match his rank and file uniform. Actually Pen was 90% sure there was a 0% chance he saw this guy before, and he wasn't any good at math. Discarding that information, he glanced down at his food again, stomach turning. Gritting his teeth, he shoved it aside, agreeing, [color=darkred]"Yeah, screw responsibility! I know a place, you see. Name's Pen, by the way."[/color]

Sure, Commander Ferghus could arrive at any time, but unless he had some awesome cooks, Pen wasn't exactly in the mood to be jumping on his vessel.

Standing, Pen adjusted his suit coat, grinning, [color=darkred]"You aren't afraid of Undertown, are you?" [i]Not like anyone has reason to be, all bark and no bite...[/i][/color]