"Yes."

"Can I have it back, please?"

"What? No. I'm not--what? Tommy, I'm not gonna give you your stuff back."

"Why why why whyyyyyyyyyy. Come onnnnnn. I need my knife, at least, to fuckin', stab shit."

"How about this, I'll keep an eye on you to make sure you don't get eaten, and in return I get to keep your knife."

"You're already taking my fucking mana, you stupid manipulative piece of shit."

"Exactly! So I'll be able to use the knife better anyway."

"What--no--that isn't--uuuuuuuuuuuggggggggghhhhhhh."

"Maybe you can get it back if you, if you listen to me, okay? But right now, you don't listen to me ever, you’re the only person who doesn’t ever listen to me. If I tell you to do something, you’re like no, fuck you, and you go and do, like, the exact opposite. So no, I'm not giving you a knife."

"That does not sound like me. That isn't what I sound like. Fuck you! Do not make fun of me, fuck you, I am so much more powerful than you!"

"You're not--you’re like a little annoying pest, just--pissing me off."

"Fuck you, man. Why-- what do you want."

"...Nothing? I'm just here to talk to you."

"...Oh."

"Tommy, we're still friends, okay?"

"What? Ohh, just because I killed your family doesn't mean we can't be bros!"

"I mean. --Wow, there's, like, a whole mal nation over here."

"There's three."

"Well, there's four now." And now there are zero!

"You know what this reminds me of, this reminds me of the 1910s. ...And I won't get into why."

"The 1910s????? Can you... tell us what that means."

"I'm going to be honest, I have absolutely no idea what that means."

Clay's pretty content to go around stabbing mals and working on his own projects while Tommy does his homework.

"This is so--this is so weird, man. You're just watching me."

"I'm just making sure you're not up to no good. You're in Tampa's study room, that's weird."