Jack watches the chips find liberation and then further despair in Sinclair's hands, but with his mouth full of tuna he doesn't feel the need to intercede. Yet. But don't get too cocky with those eats, buster.

Speech is currently impeded, so he shrugs eloquently instead. It's sort of a shrug and a nod, a mute double signal that he's not certain but sure, maybe. Worth a try.

He'd be more enthusiastic, probably, but at the moment he's thinking about his arm. The pain is leaving it in fits and starts and already, he can feel the deep sting of muscle knitting back together.

tuna tuna beans

(there is no spoon, so he drinks the beans like thick beany soda, straight from the can)

(ryan family table manners)