There are only so many things he can put his focus on at once, be it conversation or spellcasting. Fine, magic, have it your way. One at a time it is. The bun, intact, smells less obviously of spearmint, but there's a faint aroma.

"No kidding? Like you feel weaker, or you've forgotten how to do it, or you know how it should work and it just won't happen?"

Popp gets cursed and poisoned and suffers mental setbacks all the time, he has some valuable, hard-earned perspective here. He's a little pettily glad that he's apparently stronger than Sephiroth right now, he's got a competitive streak. Not one strong enough to make him not want to help.

"As for the rivers - they're great practice for ice, but for fire, it'd have to be wider than what we've got now. A pond'd be better than just waiting around until I can make it to the seashore."

The scent's changed as he's been talking, and it's a distinct seafood whiff now. Popp tosses the done bun up to Sephiroth and starts cooking up the other one.