[There's something about that statement that hits Taako hard enough to physically wince, but he doesn't quite get why. I mean, it's sad, yeah, but a little personal? Hm. Digging around in his pockets, producing a dressed up apple pie concoction. It' looks modified from a McDonald's base, but, y'know. Custom. It's wrapped in a napkin, for sanitation. Dropping it into her lap.]

I don't think it works like that. You're at most, say, 10, 12 percent responsible. [Probably not the time to be joking, but he's uncomfortable.] But this place isn't, uh, weighted to be fair. It's made to hurt you.