Seth doesn't even flinch as Royal grabs the knife, watches closely as he takes his turn and is clearly impressed. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to read the stranger's foul mood, but something about a foul mood, especially this far from the Lady, draws Seth like a magpie to tinsel. He knows better than most that, sometimes, all it takes is a little adversity to get the ball rolling. His blade's buried halfway into the table and Seth only chuckles again, as entertained as he is unfazed. "Ooh-hoo-hoo, someone's played this before, huh?" he teases through the mouthful of ice he's chewing. "Bit shaky on the dismount, but hey, we're all a little rusty, right? Alrighty, let's see here."
The pocket knife is as good as gone - there's no way Seth would ever be able to pry it out and he doesn't even try, instead reaching to grab someone's discarded plastic butter knife. He splays out his hand again and pauses, clearly concentrating, before he starts, slow at first but working up to quicker stabs and a few fancy flips. The whole thing is a performance and an obvious mockery, but when he completes his turn he smacks the knife down on the table with a dramatic exhale. "Goddamn, doesn't that just get your heart going? I think we got a clear winner here, don't we, strong man?"