I’ll say what I want, [he says, but it’s just childish contrarianism. He sounds like he won’t say it again, at least not in front of her.]

That ain’t really your fault, is it? Some of the people here didn’t even come with shoes, I wouldn’t expect you to show up here with an ambulance and a four-course dinner. [He shivers; the wound itself is cold, as if it belonged to an ice statue instead of a human being that’s otherwise breathing and sweating and living. He crumples up his t-shirt and holds it to his chest, folding at the waist slightly, unconsciously similar to the way a child might clutch a toy.]

So, Trance. I’m gonna guess you’re not a human, that maybe you’re one of these space aliens or elves or whatever. Maybe a robot in disguise. [Dixon looks almost excited by that idea; out of all the bonkers stuff they’ve encountered here, he hasn’t run into his favorite, which is robots, clearly an entire genre. He takes another long drag on his cigarette, holds it, then puffs it out his nose.] Have you met humans before?