Unaware that he's inadvertently swiped her stew, Maine watches the stranger set the bowl down with surprise. It's a kind gesture. A generous and unprompted one. And it's evident that he's not sure how to respond to it.

Is this normal behavior here? People fearlessly running up to give food to newcomers? If it is, he may as well give up on acclimating right now. He can do fearless just fine, but empathy for a perfect stranger is something he lacks. Best he'd be likely to do is point them towards a food source.

The Freelancer meets the stranger's eyes as she folds her arms. She has a soldier's physique. Could be from a gym; could be she knows how to fight. Maybe that explains why she was so willing to approach him. Common ground, or some shit.

With the bizarre behavior somewhat rationalized, Maine nods. "Thanks," he grunts, and his voice — deep, gravelly, and sounding a lot like a growl — is a sharp contrast to hers. Still, the sentiment is sincere.

Maine scoops the bowl up with one big hand. With the other, he gestures to himself.

"Maine."

His name, offered much quicker than usual. He's grateful for the food.