@fouldeed “If you must know—“ his gaze sat there in silence, a benign smile on his face as quick and as inappropriate as a pre-knotted tie, “I advise you to try.”
Thus, breathed in—son of chaos. Awake shall you be. Hold this sword, against my throat. Let the golden ichor be savored against your steel, let it flow; drip, drip—down the drain.