[ The petty part of him, easily affronted, wants to do just that. I don't want to explain it--leave the whole thing there, non-answer for non-answer, and fall into an uncomfortable silence. He can feel the urge on his tongue, as he looks down into his cup, a vague sense of displeasure over his features; it isn't at the taste of the beer, which seems fine, as far as beers go. There's something a little jarring about not being able to force information out of someone solely because he cares enough not to be a jerk about it: and he doesn't like that feeling.

He isn't really sure that he should be making friends in this place. He's never been good at it, always the kid in the back, sitting things out, quiet and strange: what good would it do now? He should be focused on getting Aerith and himself back to Midgar.

A swallow, shrugging up a shoulder. He finds some weak part of himself compelled to answer, like it might make Nanami like him a little better. ]

I was SOLDIER. I'm not anymore. No one here seems to know what that is, which means we're far away from the place I come from, but.

[ Another swallow. ] Left the company I worked for. Now I'm just for hire.

[ And maybe there's a small hint of a smile: ] I wasn't fired, or anything. I'm good at what I do.