You're damn right he's going to be Helped. Dimitri cracks a threadbare smile. "My condolences. I have some experience with curses, though none, I think, as severe as yours."

At least, Dimitri is reasonably sure he can die. It's not as if it's ever happened. The thought is alarming, and he crams it into the back of his skull with everything else he doesn't think about.

His expression turns stern. "Then you should eat something, regardless. There's no cost to the meals here, and it doesn't run out. There's no need to suffer hunger when there's food freely available." Pot, meet disregulated-eating-habits kettle. But Dimitri catches the poet's wrist -- the man hadn't seemed to mind being touched earlier -- and pulls him along, forging towards Windjammer with steely determination. "This way."