Yeah, thinks Wyatt quietly, some precious moments after he catches that look in the newcomer's eye. He could make a cake with the wine.

The answering smile is a tempered one; Wyatt knows that just because he's come to consider Taxon a second chance of sorts, that he didn't always feel this way. In fact, sometimes he can't believe he doesn't actually hate being here anymore.

He takes the bottle, notes the care it's handled with, and decides then and there to do the same. He'll move (if not outright dance) to the tune Mister New Guy plays. "Everyone else does, why shouldn't you," he says, giving a small, wry smile, and holds out his hand for a proper greeting.

"Wyatt Cain. One of the veteran residents."