[Cued by the possibility of a cheap meal, Keaton's stomach gives a sharp growl. Breakfast had been just a chocolate croissant from an indulgent pâtisserie worker looking to strike up a cordial relationship with the newest moon-blessed on the block; at this time of the day, the full stomach of morning has become a distant memory. Weighing the offer to meet for a meal -- and the risk he would become irreparably lost on the way to said meal, because This Is Keaton and Let's Be Honest -- he scratches behind an ear, then winces at the unexpected sharpness of a claw. Right -- he'd never put the glove back on, and now he's gone and looked like a dunderhead in front of his ticket to affording dinner. As he slides the leather back over his hand, his stomach gives another pathetic whine. Time to save some face.]

Right now? This minute? N-not that I'm really that hungry, but my schedule is pretty clear, so. Sure. Since I've got nothing better to do right now, I wouldn't mind meeting you some place with meat on the menu. Just because I have some free time, that's all.

[Behind Keaton, there's a suspicious amount of tail-wagging as he straightens his glove.]