After everything last night, Arguz wouldn't try and add in on Jia's little bickering with Fahir. Not that Arguz couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sickly brother's comment; Fahir never approved of Arguz's gunslinging adventures and he absolutely didn't approve that Uijl got wrapped up in it too. If not for their mother's presence, Arguz would've let out a loud huff. He lacked the same patience and forgiveness Uijl had to the sick ratfolk. However, Arguz knew better than to spike an argument his mom wanted to quell. He knew better than to disrespect his elders by going against their wishes.

Especially when one of their elders happens to be a former bounty hunter and carries around a ludicrously sharp blade.

Beneath his light, cloth sleeping robes, Arguz crossed his legs between each other, leaning forward as Doden spoke to him. A gentle, encouraging feeling came through the gunslinger's heart. The little brother's face represents a lot of what Arguz once was: youthful, promising and believed in the endless possibilities. Arguz had been in this job long enough, on so many dangerous, entertaining adventures, that his body's already weathered by his job; and he's become enough of a realist to realize that he hd to respect those with more power throughout Ferroveil. To see, though, that the young, small, dare-say brilliant ratfolk wanting to be brave and to stand up for those he cares about? It's wonderful, endearing even, to Arguz's ratty ears.

The gunslinging ratfolk, with his bronze chain belt and revolver tucked tightly inside his robes, smiles proudly at the young, little sibling. "That's my bro," Arguz chuckles proudly to Doden. The detective's weary eyes, though still full of life, sees so much potential within the little engineer. He and Caci have so much to live for that it's insulting for ratfolk to have short lives. "Can't go guaranteeing that yer gonna face things from dragons to assassins to some ol' crazy thing from Abaddon," he playfully warns the young Doden. The kind of monsters Arguz encountered before really put Josiah's words to context: there's no way Arguz would have handled that if he were any "normal" ratfolk. He can't say, however, that the rest of his family isn't without talent either. "But there's something to respect 'bout being brave. An' I think we all got a bit of that." He looks around the small room in their small house, looking at each member of his family. "I mean jus' being brave 'nough to deal with what life throw's at us each day, brave 'nough to realize we all got something to fight fer. Even brave 'nough..."

Among Arguz's mentor-like speech to Doden, Darug's plate of scrambled eggs suddenly felt a little lighter. A bone-thin hand holding a wooden spoon reached out the moment that breakfast was set down on the wooden, somewhat-rickety table. And with hands as quick as his a gunslinger's trigger-finger, a thick spoon of scrambled eggs is taken from the table and dropped in the wide-open, cone-shaped mouth of Arguz Aijk.

"...to call dibs on eggs!" he mutters happily between his munching. It's been forever since Darug has made scrambled eggs. Usually it's easy to get eggs at the market in Lowtown. Making them scrambled is easier; even Arguz can do it. It's rare, however, for Darug to actually have the time to make it. Usually it's Uijl or Doden and Caci who are up early enough to cook before everyone's out to work; and there's something about Darug's method that makes them... tastier than his mom's. If Arguz had to guess, it's some special spice his dad uses. His eggs sure are spicier as the bits of eggs are like a burning party in his mouth; and it's better than any scrambled eggs Arguz has had elsewhere.

"Mmmm, delicious Pa!" Arguz looks up and smiles at his dad as he sits down. The detective looks over his parent's shoulder to see his mom's very, very brief embarrassed face. With his own smile, Arguz teases his two parents. "You learned a lotta things from Ma, aye?"

Jesting at the breakfast table is far cry from ignorantly guessing a creature's place of origin in a battle of life-or-death. The whiplash would be startling if, just for now, it wasn't so welcoming to the gunslinger.