( McGillis straightens, adjusting a step or two for he and Gaelio to speak.

— but he remains off balance, Gaelio holding all the cards. for a moment, long and hard, an inexplicable anger flares, detectable (at least to Gaelio) in the set of McGillis's eyes, a lean, hungry, hurt light sharpening the green there. McGillis chuckles, a breath through his nose, eyes closing, head bowing. the humor is brief and purely performative. )

I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Gaelio. ( attention returning: ) When we last spoke, machine implants disgusted you. ( after all... ) Humans must be natural. That is a value of Gjallarhorn.