"We're making lists now, are we," he continues dryly, working at getting the last pieces of string out of Neil's flesh. He squints at the work, whistles to ED-E to tilt the light--the eyebot moves to do so. Alex presses a thumb lightly against the side of the gash.

"Darling food whore, I know your preferences well at this point. Preservative laden fruit and pre-processed carbs. Mmm, delicious," he gives in a deadpan.

"Why didn't you want to spend the money you earned helping me?"