"Sounds about right."

Sarion considers for a long moment, then says, "I do not think I am irreparable."

Queenie snuggles her. "That's good."

"Aww, sweetheart," says Queenie, snuggling her some more.

"I was there when they fixed you; I caught a bunch."

"You love your sweeties," Queenie points out. She has spoken to the sweeties in question. She knows.

"Yes. Of course, always."

"So what's the difference? Sex?"

Sarion blinks. "I - do not know about other races, but elves can - recognize a connection, soul to soul. I do not know if I have it with my beloved - it is - muddied."

"You've got time to figure it out," says Queenie, patting her on the back.

"Yes." She shrugs. "He has not thought of me in that way. Beyond a single vulgar remark, once."

"He'd fuck you now, if you wanted," says Queenie.

"Perhaps. I do not think it would clarify the question. It does not seem to be a distinguishing characteristic of mine."

"A - a clarification of that would make good hearing."

"It's weird that there's only the one word," says Queenie, "when there's more different kinds of love than there are people. But the way your sweeties love you is a little like the way they love each other, and a little like the way we all love each other, and a lot like the way we love our sweethearts - those of us who have 'em."

"I have not previously heard the assertion that loves are more numerous than lovers," observes Sarion. "Nor am I familiar with attempts to compare the kinds to one another."

"Yeah, and?" says Queenie.

"And so my puzzlement has not been much clarified."

"If I knew what you were puzzled about, maybe I could help."

"If I am told that I resemble my mother, and also my father but less so, partial lists of the resemblances are often forthcoming."

"Can't really help you there. Just 'case I know what it feels like doesn't mean there's words for it."