The teal clone isn't listening for Tarn's answer, not now that his full attention is on getting this wonderfully messy meal into his tank. It's a little strange to him that the boss wants to watch though... other mechs usually start running for the hills at this point. Not that it mattered to Dirge, as long as he wasn't going to stop him.

There's nothing particularly magical about the jet's technique, except maybe his rate of consumption. And the ridiculous amount of enjoyment he gets out of tearing limbs off and swallowing them whole. He leaves the head for last, leaning back and balancing it on a claw.

"Please don't eat me, Dirge~" he squeaks, making the mouth flop along with the words.

"Mmm, I'm afraid it's the boss's orders~" The jet laughs and pokes his claws through the optics, popping them out into the palm of his free hand. He then tosses those into his mouth and crunches them down.