Ah yes, the gelatine. Wrathion's fingers curl, an expression of hesitant distaste crossing his features, before he plasters on another smile. Introductions he can do!

"You may call me Wrathion," he says, as if gracing Daylight with some sort of honour. He is! He's losing the title, since nobody here seems likely to indulge in calling him the Black Prince anyway. No matter. Daylight vis Lornlit, though, what a curious name. Wrathion files it away for later analysis, wondering if it has some meaning. "I believe," he adds more quietly, "the sandwiches are at least... edible."

Th best he can say about them.