[hmm. trust a stranger to get you right where you fucking live. there's no noticeable lag on nanite translation; kavinsky hears what rupert means nearly as soon as the unfamiliar syllables arrive in his ear. it's true. he's been dead a long time, and there is no end to that in sight.]

I'll drink to that.

[and kavinsky does, once the bottle is made available to him. the bubbles burn on the way down, not meant to be sucked down as quickly as he does it, but it's hardly the most painful thing that kavinsky has ever endured, and pain bothers him less than it used to. besides, it's nice-- the cold heat of it, chasing the hot flush of stimulants through his body. balance is important. he has discovered that in recent years, mostly as a product of deeply unethical psychotherapeutic conditioning.]

How come you like cars so much if you're so fucking oldschool you used to carry around a sword like it was no big party trick deal? [kavinsky cocks his head.] I'm sure we could find some horse dick for you if that's your preferred ride.