I've read your summary."
"And?"
"It's not incompetent."
Be still, my heart, so I don't faint from such faint phrase. "Did you expect it to be written in crayon?

Kate Daniels, deadly swordmaster. Fear my twitching pinkie.

You'll lose."
"What makes you so sure?"
"You have no discipline. All you do is tear down shit down. My father is a bastard, but at least he builds things. You turn cities into smoking ruins and blunder about like some hyper child, smashing anything you see. And then you sit here and wonder, 'Why did all of my children turn out to be violet idiots? It's a mystery of nature,'.

I'm counting to ten in my head."
"Is it helping?"
"No."
"It doesn't help me with you either. I used to life weights to alleviate frustration, but someone blowtorched my weight bench. How did you do it, by the way?"
"I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you.

I'll call you," he repeated.
"If you call me, I won't pick up the phone."
"You will wait by the phone for my call, and when it rings, you will pick it up and you will speak to me in a civil manner. If you don't know how, ask someone.

He glued the chair to my ass."
Silence.
"Is it still...attached?"
"I can't get it off.