"Oh, 'cawse I know! Luckiest fella in God Grove and Marrow Isle, n' I ain't about to forget it!" Hector jokes, the hand around Capochin's shoulders moving to set upon the start of his tail as he talks. Standard-fare affection to any onlookers, but for Drainfolk, or perhaps any well-informed Godpokes nearby? The old men are doing ridiculous little territorial displays again. At least the smile he's given is enough to keep him from getting in a huff in addition to that.

(The lucky remark flares that jealousy with a fan, though. Of course he's lucky, don't you go getting any ideas about trying to get any of that luck, you strange, beautiful man.)

Any griping is kept to himself in favor of brightening at the offer of food, though, and he leans down to snag a plate for himself. "I was hopin' I'd make it in time for 'em to be done! Lemme grab a seat, I'll have dinny with yew fellas."