The fact they have saved the world really ought to be a cause for celebration. A party in the Great Hall or something. None of them got injured, since there was no big brawl between the forces of good and evil, nothing that would look especially awesome in an action movie, just an angel in hand-painted basketball boots entreating a Navajo girl to
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So, no, he will not be asking for details.
(He would approve of the no-one's-business-but-our-own attitude, however. He just thinks that use of the suggestive term 'boyfriend' runs counter to that attitude. Needless to say, he will never be referring to Maia as his 'girlfriend', even if their not-quite-relationship ever progresses beyond makeouts that would leave even Strong Bad's virtue intact.)
"He was human, then became an angel who worked for demonic forces, all the while retaining an essentially angelic nature," Octavian paraphrases. "I'm not convinced Maia was ever a human at all. She, however, would like to believe that was the case. Perhaps it wouldn't go amiss for her to speak with Brice, in the unlikely event neither is opposed to the interview."
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'The only other person is Michael,' she points out. 'Brice is the only other person, but he can't tell her if she's human or not. Only Michael can do that.' She pauses. 'And I'm guessing she ought to hear the answer.'
Suddenly, a smile blossoms over her face. 'I forgot to ask how you were, at the start of this. I'm sorry. That was dead rude of me.'
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Possible answers:
Self-contained and self-sufficient!
Plotting the rise of an empire!
Mopey and hormonal! (Hey, at least he has good skin. For an eighteen-year-old that's no mean feat.)
"I'm very well, thank you," he says, in a sort of flat and disinterested tone. (There is a difference between disinterested and uninterested. Octavian has that difference covered.) "And yourself, apart from the matter over which you say you require no especial congratulations?"
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'I don't,' she points out, 'And I guess okay. But after the mission, people have gone a bit weird.' Mel sighs, and doesn't stop her mouth. 'You tell me, with your fantastic mind, all cogs turning and wheels clicking, why a friend's boyfriend and his ex flit off together after days of whispering and plotting, without her.'
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So, footsoldiers, in his lingo.
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A pause.
"There is also the possibility they are collaborating on a project of their own initiative."
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'The second one makes more sense.'
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'Family. Friends. They're wired to help people.' They all are, every angel.
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"Then it's likely they're ... helping someone." Syrupy, isn't it?
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'How come things don't add up in life like they do in books?' she asks nobody in particular, or maybe the universe.
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