[With little else to occupy his attention aside from a cursory examination of the surrounding room, of course he's watching her as she finishes arranging the trays of food. And with his keen eyes...he can't help but notice the hasty fashion in which her skirt has been fastened. The path of dampness beneath her swishing tail. With great care he fixes his gaze elsewhere. He swats away the memories that rise up, of her breasts sweet in his mouth, and her hand scrabbling at the front of his trousers, and her tail lifting—

Get a hold of yourself. His thoughts are usually so much more disciplined than this. The tray of food she carries to him provides a distraction.]

And I always said that if humans weren't meant to fly, I would do my damndest to find a way in spite of it.

[He surveys the spread of food appreciatively. After months of subsisting primarily on takeout and restaurant fare, he appreciates solid home cooking more than ever.]

Thank you. Don't fret about the shirt. I already assumed I'd never see it again. For all I knew when I woke up, I could have buried it in the sand or flung it into the sea.

[He chuckles politely. It wouldn't be the end of the world if he never got it back.]

Let's eat, shall we?