He's got hands so long and white and dainty I think they carved each other out of soap, and sometimes they get loose and glide around in front of him free as two white birds until he notices them and traps them between his knees; it bothers him that he's got pretty hands.
— This mission, sire...
— ...is too dangerous, so I shouldn't go.
— Yeah... You're thinking the same thing?
— No. I'm thinking that's exactly what you always say, but here I am, two legs, two arms, my own teeth.