Rarden had been politely disengaged from the conversation his captain was holding to begin with, but the appearance of their food utterly destroyed the interest he had held in it. It was fortunate timing, because Fitch's speech on the worth of his harpoon was trying and he wasn't even paying attention. As he looked at the life-giving, blessed chicken delivered before them, he could still only think about how well things were going for them. The only way it could turn down from here was if they were mugged on the way back, or if the port authority ceased their vessel, or if the food was diseased, or. He sighed and contented himself with cutting a piece of the chicken away and sticking it in his mouth. He would have torn into it without hesitation if Louis hadn't beat him to the punch. It was incredibly petty and he knew it, maybe even enjoyed it, but he was out to groom an image of at least mild sophistication, even if only by comparison.