Calories In, Calories Out
("You're not really going to eat that, are you?)

All things considered, Miranda was very good at multitasking. What impressed Dylan were the little details, though; she wasn't just good at eating while discussing work and occasionally thumbing at a datapad for relevant information, she was good at eating properly, with good posture, poking at pieces of her salad that he was sure were measured while thumbing at a datapad. The woman could make chewing look ladylike.

"Shepard, are you paying attention?"

"Huh?" Blinking a few times, Dylan added, "Sorry, I just...numbers aren't a strength of mine."

Rolling her eyes, Miranda ate another bite - chewing several times before discreetly swallowing, of course - and said, "You were the one who wanted to know more about the process of keeping the Normandy maintained and the crew paid. Which includes you and your specialists." Sighing, she glanced around, eyes skimming the bustle of the restaurant before settling on the strange, multicolored drink he was constantly taking small sips from. His side of the table was otherwise empty. "The service here really is awful."

Despite the way Miranda wrinkled her nose, Dylan brushed it off. "Nah, it's just a big order."

Of course, as if on cue, their waiter sauntered over with his order not five seconds later. After assuring said waiter that he didn't need anything else, Dylan dug right in.

He dug in while Miranda just stared, eyes wide. "You're not...going to eat all that, are you, Shepard?"

"Why not?" Dylan tried to say, but around the mashed potatoes in his mouth, it didn't really come out well.

It wasn't so much the 'what' as it was the amount. Steak, potatoes and corn weren't that expensive on the Citadel these days, but she knew North Americans on Earth who lived in the regions where this kind of thing had always been popular, and they didn't eat this much of it in a week. Or in a month. She didn't want to guess how much his plate weighed.

As dense as Dylan could be about numbers, he was still observant, and he didn't need help noticing the look on her face. "Miranda, even ignoring the biotics, my arms are bigger around than your head, and I like it that way." Realizing that this didn't sound nearly as good as it had in his head, he kept talking before it could sink in. "You have any idea how many calories I have to burn to get a workout like I used to, with all the heavy-weave enhancements?"

Deadpan, she answered, "Quite a lot, it seems."

Vaguely waving his fork in her direction and, she noted with distaste, flicking off a bit of gravy onto the table, he added, "Hey, if I'd been born a woman, maybe I'd be concerned with my girlish figure and I'd be eating all that rabbit-food, too, but such is fate." Shoving another bite into his mouth, he said, "Mmm, you should've seen me the first time I took leave after I enlisted. Hadn't had good food since Mom got stationed near Watson."

"I'm sure," Miranda sighed. Going back to her datapad, she wondered how to tell him there wasn't room in the budget to stock Gardner with anything more than the current grade of provisions.

Besides, even if they could afford a cow for use as Shepard's personal meat supply, there wouldn't be a place to put it.