Obviously it was the only hit he got in. The boy's made of silk and senseless ambition. [Is dry enough to signal how much he is not playing along with petty teenage warring, wherein the greatest of their fears is how they're seen. A sense of pride extending only to the borders of their fingertips.

They don't have bills to pay. They don't have children to feed. They certainly do not have a play to be finished before Christmas ready to knock the whole of Paris off its feet, elsewise foreclosure's in the very real cards.]

Honestly, Fenris. [More a wearied sigh than anything else.] You bit him on the neck?