Ground-up fish, maybe? [ She tries another scoop of the paste, a quizzical look on her face as she stares into the empty air as if searching for cosmic inspiration. ] Or... it's a little sharper. Maybe roe.

[ She's content to dig cheerfully into the food, wolfing down this mix-and-match dinner after an active day out on the island, helping blunt the effect of that potent liquor so it doesn't go straight to her head and knock her off her chair. When she reaches the dolmades — grape leaves stuffed with rice, herbs, pine nuts, and a bit of feta — she makes a delighted little noise. They're wrapped like tiny burritos, which means it's easy for her to pluck another one up and offer it to him. ]

I have decided I will trust this chef with my life. Here, you've got to have one of these.

[ There's that cheerfully crossing boundaries again — Luna always slipping into a presumptive intimacy which could always be awkward at best, rude at worst — but truly, she doesn't think twice about it before she's holding out the wrapped grape leaf for Charlie to eat it straight from her fingers. ]