[Dark red eyes glance over — And his throat clenches uncomfortably, because he smells Kirito before he sees him; it's just a moment of weakness, where his ears fill with the thrum of a heartbeat, of blood rushing through veins (in the boy's temples, especially). He smells of electric failure, sure, but the blood will always outbid the rest. Luckily for Kirito, Garrett's skilled at handling blood. Relatively, anyway. He's hardly a newborn, and while he's not so trained as dear old Carlisle, he isn't leaping up to murder the boy.

He does shift a bit, masking his discomfort with a raised brow and interest.

He is interested in new company, it's just. Feigned right now because he really would love to get a meal or three. Damned blood capsules work well enough, but it doesn't kick the habit so well.]

Hey — Kirito, is it? Suppose you and I are crewmates. Brothers in arms.

... If the primary war here is figuring out where the food comes from, anyway.