Woe frowns up at 2B, huffing a floating strand of pinked hair away from her tumultuous hurricane eyes fit to match the storm outside. She folds her arms across her chest, tapping the toe of one boot on the ground a singular once.
"Don't be ridiculous," she says, crossly, "You're the second most competent person in this building, notwithstanding myself - an excellent swordswoman, more than passably intelligent, meticulously disciplined, not a constant irritant, and you're surely aware of your looks."
Praise doesn't come readily to her. It somehow rankles to bestow it, or perhaps grinds against some sedimentary resistance to the idea, but there are matters of fact she would rankle more to omit. She has a low tolerance for falsehoods, and that includes the absurd idea that 2B lacks admirable qualities in the abstract.
"I'd be astonished if you didn't have admirers, of one type or the other, if I'm being quite honest," says a woman who never stints on telling people exactly what she thinks whenever it pleases her to do so.
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"Don't be ridiculous," she says, crossly, "You're the second most competent person in this building, notwithstanding myself - an excellent swordswoman, more than passably intelligent, meticulously disciplined, not a constant irritant, and you're surely aware of your looks."
Praise doesn't come readily to her. It somehow rankles to bestow it, or perhaps grinds against some sedimentary resistance to the idea, but there are matters of fact she would rankle more to omit. She has a low tolerance for falsehoods, and that includes the absurd idea that 2B lacks admirable qualities in the abstract.
"I'd be astonished if you didn't have admirers, of one type or the other, if I'm being quite honest," says a woman who never stints on telling people exactly what she thinks whenever it pleases her to do so.