"As is tradition." To make money, he means. That's most of what it comes down to in the end.

He takes the licorice. The smell is pungent enough he can scent it the moment she opens the jar. He takes it, curious, and bites into it.

She's right: it's nowhere near as sweet as anything else. He chews thoughtfully, with the look of a man who's not often, if ever, asked for his opinion on the taste of food and is not quite sure what to really say beyond: "Not bad."

He bends the stick a bit, watching it fold in his hand. It's the texture more than anything he's getting used to.

"One day, I'll need to find something you've yet to experience in return. Other than a monster."