[ This guy is great. Jules presses her lips together in a functionally useless attempt to curb the urge to grin, an endeavour she gives up on altogether in the face of that existentially wearied glare from the cook. ]

I bet you'd win, too. This is a typical case of [ — she flounders, but only for a split second — ] anti-robot prejudice.

[ The cook sighs, heavily and with great exhaustion. Jules struggles to swallow a laugh. ]

Just because this guy can't eat doesn't mean he doesn't deserve any food.

[ A thought strikes her rather suddenly, and she adds: ] Sorry, are you a guy? Or... I mean, I don't want to assume.