So many kinds, he can't even pick just one. Rhys already has a small tower of various donuts stacked up on his real palm before the other guy answers, and he turns, mismatched eyes (figuratively) lighting up as he spies what the stranger is holding. "Yes, perfect! Thanks."

He snags one with his artificial hand, gleaming silver disappearing at the wrist beneath the sleeve of his corporate coat, but the line of his arm all the way up to the shoulder doesn't seem quite natural either. "God, you're a lifesaver. Well, not a life saver, but my joints'll thank you later."