"Uh... preserved in the toughest, blandest form possible," he explained. "Keeps for years and years, about as interesting and flavorful as leather. And oatmeal's the meal from oats heated into a kind of mushy grainy glop." He wasn't a fan of the stuff they made at the Starbase; back on Unzervalt, where they used real oats that they actually grew in the ground (not synthesized fiber in a vaguely oat-y shape), and with a drizzle of rich molasses stirred in... that was different.

Homesickness pinged at his heart for a moment before he led himself away from that tangent.

"You'll have to tell me about him sometime," he said, smiling. "And... Fwiffo'll live." Zelnick would make sure of it, even if he had to beat off monsters with his skillet to keep Fwiffo breathing. A place like this was no place to die, not after nearly five years on a nearly impossible quest to stop a nearly unstoppable force. "He's not going to be happy, but he'll live."

Zelnick's only reply to that was a doubtful "Hmm" as he continued pecking at his food, but... well, maybe it was something to keep in mind.

After a few moments, he looked back up at Kenren, trying to smile. "How was your day, then?" he asked, in an effort at polite conversation.