Velvet startles, slightly - she hadn't intended to get so invested in arguing with the vendor that she'd let her own consideration of who-what-where slip away in a strange place, and her body language noticeably stutters as she both jerks - because who is it - and then stops herself from jerking - because that much hyperawareness isn't necessary, here - in the direction of his person. She settles, adjusting her stance so she can look at him without entirely disengaging from the conversation she was just having, her gauntlet hand coming to rest on her hip.

"Nothing substitutes in a quiche for fresh eggs. Everyone knows that. And nothing beats getting those eggs straight from the nearest farm." She tips her head back, eyes slipping closed, a quick-flash of a tight but pleasant smile crossing her face. Glancing back at the vendor. "You're starting to sound like a lost cause here. But now I'm curious what you used to make this, if it wasn't eggs."

"We utilize the current galactic standard synthovoid formula, sentient, the same as everywhere else," the vendor assures her, smooth, quick, sounding much more at ease with simple questions about the process than it was about her previous attempts at 'helpfulness'. "Using real eggs would be simply uncivilized."

This brings Velvet up short for a moment, staring at the vendor in obvious bemusement - too confused to take it personally, for sure. She pauses, rubs at her forehead with two fingers for a moment, then, glances at York, considering. And, perhaps, trying not to look pleading.

"Is that 'universal translator' they told me about malfunctioning again? I'm sure I understood the part about me being a horrible egg-eating monster correctly, at least."

Being called barbaric for eating eggs is a novel experience for her.