[It's a sliver of contact that Caim finds both foreign and familiar. He hasn't always been so hardened, so jaded, so cynical, so resigned. Her gentle demeanour, welcoming and warm, reminds him of such. As if it's a reflection of himself that he can almost reach out and touch. And proverbially, he makes the attempt. But hesitation wins and so too, does logic. He's spent too long being the way he is. There is no going back to the man he once was. Even if he tried to, he wouldn't be able to. He's been too affected by what he's seen and experienced. If Caim has ever hoped to even remotely reintegrate himself with society, it's not possible. Whether he hopes it or not, remains a question unanswered.

Regardless, it's a momentarily nice feeling. That familiarity. Even for him, there is security in what he knows, or what he feels he knows. It's interesting that Angela can even offer that to him marginally. Not that he'll be saying as much. At least, not over this lunch.

Her compliment does not go unheeded. He utters a scoff, or something as close to it as he can manage considering his state. It's a huff of air and in those moments, he almost seems like any other. It's not the first time he's been called that. He doesn't really have an opinion on himself where that's concerned, however. It doesn't really matter to him. He can recollect some whispers about it back when Caerleon was still standing, but as much as he should have been, he wasn't looking at candidates for marriage and heirs either. Eventually they likely would have gotten there. Perhaps. If he ever overcame his awkwardness around people. A good leader for the field, but not exactly the man of inspiring speeches like his father.

He shakes his head, lifting a hand as if to wave off such compliments. Angela, you're laying it on thick. But what man doesn't like hearing he looks good? Even he's not immune to it and it's a smile as awkward at him that threatens to pull at his mouth.]

"Stop that. It is odd."

[But he still likes it in the end.

She continues, earnest and forward, something he both appreciates and has no idea what to do with. He doesn't know how to respond. There are some options, of course—I don't know how to be a friend. Versus Any friend of mine will likely be greeted by death. Versus I'm not interested. None of them are particularly inaccurate either. Save maybe the last one. He doesn't remember ever picking Inuart to be his friend. It was more like they had been drawn together by circumstance and the man simply wouldn't go away. And eventually, Caim found comfort in his presence. Maybe that's friendship in some way.

Maybe Angela's company isn't so different. Or has the potential, anyway, to be similar.]

"That kindness of yours will get you killed with the wrong person. I am not the sort of man you should call friend."

[He shakes his head at her. She's sweet, but foolish. The only thing he's friends with is death because he's Edgy McEdgerson.]