Tidus isn't so slouched over by now, some droop to his shoulders, but he's gathered some self-dignity enough to not drag as much. But he'll take the seat when he's put in front of it, not needing any extra nudging or manoeuvring on Inigo's part. It's a comfy-looking thing, better than most of the ones that are meant for gathering in the open stalls.

But oh, What more do you want?

Tidus shuffles more comfortably into his seat, fingers lacing over his stomach.

"...I want food." Food. Wait. "...a food that won't kill me."

Yes, good addition. And what would he like? What's safe, and goes with a cold drink.

...

...

"...bread. Bread's safe."