"Guess so." Bunny lets out a hum, agreeable enough. (And generously doesn't comment on Duke's visible discomfort.) The options are shit, so having one is probably nice. So long as it goes either well or, alternatively, so completely horrible that nobody's around to know about it afterward.

He retrieves his twice-dead pawn, keeps it between his fingers while he debates what to do with it.

"Just kinda?" he echoes, shooting him a look that communicates several things, all of them deeply dubious. One might even say verging on despairing, if Bunny were the sort of person to actively despair. "It ain't great, I'll say that."