He nods.

The chocolate chip pancake is delicious! Before he even finishes it he starts on one of the strawberry ones. He almost looks like he expects the whole spread to vanish any moment.

Between bites, he turns to Dusk.

"So, uh...what does a Sith even do out here?"

He pauses.

"...what does a Sith even do in general?"

Heh. "Whatever we want, more or less. I like my space, is why I'm out here - I get to do whatever I want a little more directly, this way, with so few people to compromise with."

"Sounds like a party."

Mmm, tiny omelet. He loves the tiny omelet.

Dusk goes from pancakes to the hashbrowns, carefully leaving well more than half for Kai-Zi. "Yeah. Not for everybody, but it was just what I needed - spent a lot of time meditating, my first few years out here, and even more time on art."

Oh. Huh. He scoops up some of the hash browns and leaves a bit in the dish.

"Had a bad time before you got here?"

Meditation and art as pastimes suggest either a boring or a tumultuous former life to him, and he's fairly sure her life wasn't boring.

"Yup. My master - well, usually I just gloss it as 'he tried to kill me', but really it would've been worse than that. Ended up with a raging case of force burnout before I managed to kill him instead, kicked around being the kind of Sith you hear cautionary tales about for a few years, finally got my head together enough to decide I didn't want to do that any more, threw pins at a map of the galaxy until I found someplace out of the way enough, and here I am. Here we are, really, Daisy's been with me from the start, there."

"...well, shit."

He is so bad at articulating emotions. He wants to go for somewhere between "I'm sorry your master was a dickhead" and "that sounds like it sucked, it's good you're better now" and "you're kind of a badass", but he just ends up with another half a pancake in his mouth looking sympathetic.

"Yeah."

"Ah - I'm a sense specialist; I have some basic emotion-reading going by default. Not much, just about as much as I'd get from body language, but -"

"...damn, that actually makes life so much easier."

He is quite palpably relieved.

"I kind of wish everyone had that."

Heh. "All right. Bugs some people, is all. At this point I feel blind without it, personally." She considers. "You could probably learn it?"

"...That'd be pretty great to learn, honestly."

He takes another bite of omelet. Mmm.

"I mean, I get why it'd bug people, because people are weird..."

More hash browns! What a feast!

"...but I like that I couldn't hide if I was pissed, or excited, or something, even if I tried."

Nod. "Not the safest thing, not being able to hide that. But it's great for communication."

"...yeah, probably wouldn't be the safest with some people."

He finds himself taking another bite of the pancakes even though he knows she'll be able to tell that he's suddenly feeling a little nauseous. Stop being so dramatic.

"Mmhmm." She scoots the serving plates away, just a bit, and then does... something... and the nausea dissipates. "Not the best breakfast conversation, huh."

...huh?

His hand goes down to his stomach instinctively.

"...what'd you do?"

He looks a little in awe.

"Do they teach Jedi that one technique to block pain? Turns out you can do other stuff with it, too."

"I, uh, maybe accidentally didn't learn that one."

He keeps touching his stomach.

"...wow, they would've killed to have something like this."

Nod. "It's pretty limited; actually not being sick is a different technique. But handy, yeah. Want to learn that one, too? 'Casting it to someone else is tricky, but just using it on yourself isn't too hard."

"That'd be a pretty neat trick to have."

"Yeah. Not today, I'll be heading into town as soon as we're done here, but I figured you'd be a couple months healing up; I don't mind you staying that long."

A couple months. That sounds pretty good to him.

(A little part of him already misses being here, somehow.)

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good to me."

He looks down at the table and remembers the calligraphy. Rather than pushing aside his plate quite yet he scoots down on the bench to see if he can look that way.

Dusk chuckles and hovers them to eye-height. Both are poems; one is short, with elaborate letters in gold ink on black paper and a simple red-and-gold frame; the other is quite long, composed of small precise letters in black ink on stone grey paper, with a frame decorated with the same sorts of flowers that adorn Daisy.

He has to physically stop himself from reaching out and touching the paper.

While he struggles with the right words to express good, that's beautiful, I like it he reads the shorter poem.

Nwûl tash. Dzwol shâsotkun: Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
Shâsotjontû châtsatul nu tyûk: Through passion, I gain strength.
Tyûkjontû châtsatul nu midwan: Through strength, I gain power.
Midwanjontû châtsatul nu asha: Through power, I gain victory.
Ashajontû kotswinot itsu nuyak: Through victory, my chains are broken.
Wonoksh Qyâsik nun; the Force shall free me.

Wow.

That's a little revelation in itself.

He needs to bring that a little closer.

He doesn't move his arm, he just sort of...reaches out, body unmoving, and takes it, without a closing hand.