Good. Otherwise I may have had to starve myself.

[An 'agreement'. Of course. Well, given how bad Kratos had been making Yuan look to his own subordinates, he supposes he can concede defeat somewhat graciously. Somewhat. The lather goes on his face and the tap is turned off at a good depth, and Kratos picks up the straight razor. And pauses. It's been quite a while since he's had to do this.

[... And if he lingers too long, Yuan will probably threaten to return tomatoes to the menu. Kratos lifts the razor. The seal takes him by surprise, rushing through him, paralysing; he goes rigid for an instant that makes his breath catch. Warning. Very carefully, he lowers the straight-razor, his fingers trembling.]

I can't.

[His voice is a touch raw. He's familiar with fighting the seal in a battle, reducing his skill level to avoid killing too many unduly; he's familiar with pushing the seal's constraints, dodging circumstances threatening his life by turning them into circumstances which only threaten his health.

[But never is the seal so solid as when he intends to take his own. Or it thinks he does.]