"We lay eggs."

"I was right! I do think it's weird!"

"If that bothers you, don't ask about the gloves."

"I wouldn't describe myself as bothered... like, it's also weird that I can paint ink onto a plate and make a big pile of dirt appear out of thin air, that's very weird, but it doesn't bother me."

"I guess that's true."

"Yes!"

"I guess you just react differently to weird stuff than I do."

"Mm?"

"I dunno, I could be wrong, it just seems like you're kind of dwelling?"

"...I'm not even sure what I'm doing that comes off that way?"

"Maybe I've been dwelling on impending unsolicited parenthood and I'm projecting," she sighs.

"Maybe."

"Sorry."

"It's fine."

Shards, shards, shards...? No more shards in this room, moving on.

"Proust was right, those are weirdly pretty."

"It's kind of unsettling when I think about it. Like, I'm used to it, but..." he trails off and shrugs.

"If you think about it, it's also kind of unsettling what an attractive shade of red most species' blood is."

"It'd be a bit hard to make jewelry out of the blood, though, and I've been tempted. The problem is they're so sharp."

"Coat 'em in glass?"

"I'd have to learn how to work with glass, but I guess that's not prohibitive."

"...If you cut yourself on one, does that just sort of...self-perpetuate?"

"No. Well - I only end up with shards like this when I actually have, you know, pieces of me separated from the rest, far enough that they can't just grow back together. And I've never tried cutting off my fingers or anything, because one, ew, two, ow."

"Oh, I wasn't sure how badly you needed to be injured. Three, why?"

"If I just get a little cut then it goes all glassy for a second or two and then I'm fine."

"Good."