“I don’t need a good complexion,” says the six-armed cambion.

“You don’t?”

“Do you?”

“I think that I do. Heather, do you?”

“I need a fucking break.”

“From what?”

“... streams.”

“What are you oozing about?”

“I don’t ooze much. Try seeing dead people for a living and see how chipper you are, devilspawn.”

“I see dead people all the time, clapperclaw.”

“I’m skepticaaaaaaal.”

“You’re inane.”

“I’m Taylor.”

“... so you are, buddy, so you are.”

“It’s nice, being Taylor. I don’t see dead people at all, and I like streams. I have everything.”

“I have nothing.”

“You have lots of things.”

“Arms, for one. I like your arms. They remind me of a very deadly flower, or a menacing insect, if flowers and insects could kill people and build gemblades and kill people with gemblades.” 

“I am an insignificant speck of dust in a vast cosmology that will grind me to dust and take away everything I love.”

“I thought I was the one being depressing.”

“You were!”

“Thaaaanks.”

“It’s no trouble. I like being honest, when it suits me. And dishonest, when it suits me. I like lots of things and I’m very happy.”

“Do you like me?”

“I do! I like you and Heather and streams and sunsets and the world. Why are you two upset?”