No, I'd like to have you over. [Gepard says this a bit quicker than, perhaps, Figaro might expect from him. A little eager, but...only a little. A tempered eagerness. He's reasonably into the idea of having company over; he kind of enjoys the thought of having Figaro join him for dinner, and having a conversation that doesn't involve work, maybe?

But then, Gepard shifts into something a little bit more resigned, taking another fucking delicious bite of the potato wedges, chewing, swallowing it, savoring the food. (And the company.) Because, after all, it's not as if Figaro can leave until he's done, probably...]

It's just...I thought I'd let you know what to expect. I'm not sure how much time I'll have to clean - I'm seeing the doctor in the afternoon. [Anyway.] Anyway. [Anyway.] So what...sorts of things do you like, Figaro? [Just...wondering- anyway.]