Nah, just a cornfed guy from Nebraska. Unless you count being disturbingly good at creatively murdering people as a mutation. Some people might make the argument.
He can tell she's a lightweight, but elects not to say anything. No sense in helping her beat herself up -- she's doing a pretty good job of it herself.
As predicted, the Avox comes over with a bottle of soda that is a particularly sickly-looking shade of grade, like something you might see leaking out of Love Canal, all bright and neon with a very exciting, exclamation-marked label. The Avoxes make Brock feel weird, uncomfortable using them for tasks like... well, like anything, really, but there's not much of a choice here.
"Brock," he answers, a little amused, and twists off the cap of the soda before handing it down to her. "What, bad breakup?"
no subject
He can tell she's a lightweight, but elects not to say anything. No sense in helping her beat herself up -- she's doing a pretty good job of it herself.
As predicted, the Avox comes over with a bottle of soda that is a particularly sickly-looking shade of grade, like something you might see leaking out of Love Canal, all bright and neon with a very exciting, exclamation-marked label. The Avoxes make Brock feel weird, uncomfortable using them for tasks like... well, like anything, really, but there's not much of a choice here.
"Brock," he answers, a little amused, and twists off the cap of the soda before handing it down to her. "What, bad breakup?"