"Quite." Even didn't agree with Ienzo often, as a matter of principle, but this conversation was going to be, at absolute best, awkward, and he wanted it done.

He seated himself accordingly and drummed his fingertips on the table in a parody of - no, in actual impatience. Or nervousness; he wasn't sure. (Or willing to admit to the latter, yet. It wasn't as though anything had happened.)