"I love nonsense," he sighs, his contented gaze shifting to look over the contents of the basket and enjoying all of it.

"Serah Lazar can bloody fight me for it," he mumbles with a smirk, "...I suspect he'll win, but don't say I didn't try." Taking the socks in hand, he feels them with a nod of approval. One doesn't come by new socks too often, at least without actively seeking them out.

"You're too kind to me."