She's not wrong, though it's more a mark for him reminding himself of the faces to try and remember, versus the plenitude of those he forgets. (A different exercise now than it had been. He's not picking and choosing the people he interacts with here like he did in a time and place where he belonged. There are different needs to meet, and too much unknown to not take note of those in the same situation.) Makka is fair to prancing at his side, all sparkling blue eyes and white fur, weaving past careless legs and feet with a flick of her ears.

"Only if I can find a drink to cry into that'd benefit from the salt," he says, and he winks as he says it; not quite the born flirt as some of his friends from a lifetime ago, but at ease and willing to be playful. There's nothing behind it, but who's to know that? "But my heart would ache for at least the length of the current song."

Here he presses his other hand to his chest, looking more amused than anything else.