"We have the authority we give ourselves," he says, quietly, pulling open the door to check the bread - then pulling the pan out and setting it on the burner, using the dish towel. "Or that we let other people give themselves."

That's all authority is anywhere, in the end, he supposes. Just usually there's more... agreement. Oversight. Something. With the Barge, it's fractured. But it wasn't, always. At least, not in the same way.

He shrugs a little, still looking at the pan. "I don't - "

Well. He doesn't even know how to finish that sentence, really. He doesn't want it, but he doesn't want to be ignored. Finding the middle ground is his own damn problem; it always has been.

He shakes his head. "Nevermind. You want some fresh bread?"