[Miserably assessing all of the possibilities raised by this response, and then miserably letting the tide of words wash over him, Salvio first says,]

Yes, [and then,] oh--

[Ham? Oh. The plate, again. His hand obeys before his mind has caught up, and before he can think better of it, or wave off the command, he has a bit of ham in his hand, and he is putting it in his mouth.]

Very good. Yes. [Not that he's tasting much at present.] Poppell, the, um.

[He sniffles, and rubs a hand over his face. It is the dust, and nothing more.]

Candor. Can it be. Taught? That is to say, if I say it... baldly, it will--

[And then somewhat out of nowhere--] I never wanted to be the seneschal, you know.

[Has the ham made him brainsick? Perhaps. For strength, or perhaps to be double sure, Salvio reaches for another piece, and shoves it in his mouth to shut himself up, lest he show any more of his ass.

Metaphorically. Maker forbid any other-- just, no.]