"I will answer those after we've had our snack. I'd like to savor it first, if you don't mind... especially since both of those topics seem rather sour." He tilts his glass to Malik as a sort of small toast.

"I do not wish to be so evasive," Death mutters, almost bitterly, before breaking off a miniscule piece of the candy and rolling it around in his fingers, mapping the feel of it with bony fingers, watching it crumble.

"And I do not wish to answer questions with more questions. It is merely a troubling necessity in this specific metapolitical climate. I like to see a close, an end, not this... endless cycle of frustration I find myself in with Matthew, or you, or the others." He pauses, adding, "Mostly Matthew."

Finally, after he has got a good idea of the consistency, he quickly cleans off his fingers with his mouth to taste it. "What is this made of?"