[He hadn't failed to notice the giant guy sitting across there – kind hard to miss – but he'd at least briefly left the guy alone. It looks like every stoic aloof action hero trope got rolled into a beefy ball and dumped into the seat opposite him. It's the kind of dude he would have had a grand old time verbally tearing down when he was thirteen, but he's older now. More mature. Less prone to picking at people just for being walking cliches.

Soldier boy engaged him, though, so all bets are off now.

Dave arches an eyebrow over his shades, face otherwise hard to read. Shrugging, he taps at the communicator laying on the table beside his tray.]

I'd google what an "MRE" is, but this brick of a smartphone doesn't wanna actually do its job and connect to anything, so I'll just take an educated guess and say that's army jargon. [A pause, and given the context he adds:] Space army. Ten-four.

[Yeah, he doesn't actually know shit about army lingo.]