Phil stands up again, a little slowly with a hand bracing on the rail, and turns to look at him. Hawk's gonna have to get used to the way Phil's gaze benignly tears straight past any pretension or facade people try to put on. Not that he was ever any good at hiding.

"Thanks. You sure clean up nice," he offers in turn, and holds up a dark and mildly expensive-looking bottle. "I brought wine. And I can cook something nice in a jiffy if you don't, uh, have anything put out."