Newt lazily walked over to the fireplace and sat down in the teal and gold bergere to smoke his pipe. He looked at ayn standing at the window and said,

"dammit ayn, you know this quest to become human is a damn difficult thing. the closer i get the more repulsed i become. i cannot stand all the stupid, stupid, fools that inhabit this world--all so ugly and uncouth mired by their own impusivity, always indulging in their inane little practices of debauchery to palliate the pain of existence. i laud their efforts at deciphering the big black nothing. but i desire captivating minds--unhinged and wild, hungry for knowledge, hungry for a reconstruction of reality, the mad, the incandescent, the truly beautiful; they are truly alive."

Ayn glanced back over her shoulder, eyes rising off a choppy glare, her short curled hair was translucent, body a slender silhouette, her profile stark in contrast against the morning light streaming in through the double paned windows on the second floor of Toad Mandrake's Middlebury Chateau.

she was wild. an untamed persona in the uncharted forestry of human essences. she was something to hold in a fond but distant memory of what it meant to have a fire sleep, coursing through you veins then suddenly combust at your center--like some kind of drug--she was not meant to be held close, not meant to be fuel for anything in particular but life itself. she, the true intrepid soul. you could not make ayn vulnerable to your advances, she took pleasure in exciting that very vulnerability in you, she would choose. to be close to her meant becoming a simultaneous expression of disinterest and infatuation. Newt had grown accustomed to such temperance that was required for such acquaintance.

ayn turned slowly acknowledging Newts remark, then walking out of the room said, "fuck newt, when did you become so privileged to deem how humanity's glove should fit? you are close to something though, close enough"