[There's a moment-- just a moment-- where she sighs. She could get after him about this, pick on him for such obvious notions... but it's not obvious, is it?]
[Dude. Unless you'd be perferred to be called something else...? Bird Face? Creeper? Asshole? ....To some, "Asshole" is a term of endearnment or desire. See: Dave.]
How do you figure? Are you going to give me that "If it doesn't kill me, it makes me Superman" shit?
{Can't really imagine an insult that'd faze him out of those-- he knows he's got a bird face, has no clue what a "creeper" is, and... yeah. The courtesans had worse names for him, that's for damn sure.}
No? If something doesn't kill you, you're merely fortunate.
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{Come on, say something. She's speaking to you.}
It's in our nature.
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I know. But nature can be overcome, can't it?
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{... or not.}
Who are we to overcome it? Isn't that why it is what it is? Overcome artificial factors, fine. Of course. Create, modify, evolve.
But nature is nature. Some things, we merely have to adapt to.
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Excuse me?
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Dude, that's just fucked up.
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Not really.
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How do you figure? Are you going to give me that "If it doesn't kill me, it makes me Superman" shit?
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No? If something doesn't kill you, you're merely fortunate.
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{And yes, absolutely. Strung up, sliced throat to nuts, hollowed, beheaded, dried out and nailed to his wall.}
{Not all Renaissance Art made it to the books.}
The man suffered and died a gruesome death about... seven years later or so. I forget who his murderer was. Brilliant being, no doubt.
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But what does she say? Their relationship is a professional one. What right does she have to offer anything on his past?
She stores it away. For now.]
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