CHAPTER 36
Residential? Commercial? What's the difference?
Sanford had been exposed to some pretty beautiful sights in the overall ugly Wasteland- most of them, of course, were figurative- seeing as nobody had really figured a way to make the blasted places of the world look in the least bit pleasing in a physical sense.
The world was filled with a plethora of things- certainly there were terrible things, there were bad things, but Sanford had been traveling long enough to realize that, beneath the rough and inhospitable exterior of the world, there were still good happenings, it wasn't entirely hopeless.
For the few people that Sanford had had full blown conversations with in his adult life- they were part of his limited audience and speakers at the same time, for these sort of scenes- because the beautiful things were usually tied to them knowing Sanford in the first place.
Sanford, when he had met the Ghouls in the urban development a day or two now, prior- had mentioned a Doctor Higgins, to Gerald as they conversed for the brief time they did, and Doctor Higgins was one of these people to Sanford.
His first name was Joe, but, for a reason he never disclosed, he hated being referred to by his first name- he preferred his last name- Higgins, with 'Doctor'- in front of it, being preferrable. After all, good old Joe had earned his right for such pleasentries with the settlers he traveled alongside.
Higgins was good at what he did, probably one of the best- those settlers made caps when people came from all across the Wasteland to seek aid from Higgins- and he was happy to help, sometimes free of charge in certain instances.
Sanford had helped him save people before- as, when they first met, all Sanford got out of the guy was that he was a short, slightly hunched, elderly man with pale skin, pure white sideburns and a bald head- and that he didn't talk much.
They sealed a sort of friendship by helping people- Sanford found that the ultimate thing to form bonds between people were sharing passions- and Higgins had an undeniable passion for saving people, for helping people.
"I don't use no guns, no blades, no words- I'm just the docta'," Higgins always said when quizzed. "I don't like seein' folk hurt, so I fix 'em, and I always fix 'em right. Ain't no people enterin' my office and leavin' still broken, we don't do tha' here."
"How many people have you saved that ended up doing something bad in return?"
-Sanford felt like such a prick after asking that question, years ago- and nowadays he would admit he asked it with a bit of spite, resentment for just how secure Higgins was with WHO he was, and how he did what he did every day.
"I dunno', two or three," Higgins shrugged. "Don't matta'. I didn' make 'em do what they did. That's their choice."
"But it was yours to save someone like that."
"Do I look' like God, to you, Tobs? Real God? What does God look like? Do you know? You don't. Do I know? I don't. So what fuckin' right do I have ta' play his cards?"
"But you choose to save people, when they should've been dead."
"...That ain't playin' God..." Higgins grumbled. "Naw', not playin' God... Basic responsibility, Tobs, RESPONSIBILITY, as a fella' human bein'. Learn that well. Remember it."
Sanford did remember it.
He really should've visited Higgins again, he was a good man. Stubborn, short tempered... But he put up with Sanford's guff, Sanford supposed his turn ought to be up.
Maybe Gerald and Fred would join that group... Odds are they were, seeing as their lab had been totalled, and they had nowhere else to go.
"Oh, look at that, Han', it's beautiful!" Sanford put emphasis on the word when the time came- he held an arm aloft, and in the evening sunset, his shadow contrasted against the beaming rays of flaming light that shown from the ball of fire setting on the horizon.
The Gas Station was just at the center of this giant ball of illumination that covered and painted the distance a plethora of oranges, reds and yellows, pinks and faded blues- the towering rocketship sign protruding from the top of the rain cover for the pumps stood higher as if to greet them.
"I'll check all the systems, sir! HOO-RAH! I'M HOME, DUMPLIN'!" Hancock shot past him, across a paved road, and up to the same old keycode-locked gate that they had left closed days ago.
Watching the robot click the code in the hidden panel, put the adhesive-coated cap back on- Sanford chuckled as comments of loose underpants flew into the evening, the gate was parted, and Hancock flew inside the walled property.
"Home sweet home." Sanford laughed.
"This is your home, monsieur'?" The Deathclaw gathered by his side, and blinked at the building- the array of motion turrets that gridded the roof and the pump-shade cover's top.
"That it is, Hancock's just going to submit your vitals to the security systems so those, uhm... Those guns," Sanford gestured up at them from the distance. "So they don't shoot at you when you come close."
"Comforting." She sighed. "Does it sound like I'm overdoing it, if I said I'm tired, again, monsieur'?"
"Surviving a quarry like that? Plus the all day walk? Not at all." Sanford reassured. "I'm beat too. I haven't slept in my matt in a WEEK, jeez'."
"...Monsieur', you said that there was some kind of water-based structure in your home... A bath?"
"Yes! Woo! Do I need one, I REEK." Sanford looked over at her, and he noticed her fiddling with her claws. He smiled patiently. "...You know, you don't have to ask, just don't go crazy with the water. Sometimes it doesn't rain for awhile."
"Appreciated, mon ami', very appreciated." She smiled at him- bowed her head, and bumped his shoulder with the side of one of her horns. "When you're done being a Guide' toristique', show me this two-hundred year old home of yours."
"Oh, that place? You want to see it?" He grinned. "Alright, sure."
"All clear now, sir! BRING IN THE LIZARD!" -Came after a quick garble of static from his helmet's interior as Hancock used the same device that could've technically reunited them earlier from when they had been seperated.
-Though, they would've needed to be closer. So, maybe not entirely. Didn't matter now.
"Alright, c'mon, Han' rewired the turrets."
"Mm."
Even though she trusted his word- she still was glaring at the rotating guns that swiveled silently from custom-built mountings all along the building's dual roofs- she was afraid one of them would spontaneously start shooting.
Though as they crossed the paved road, side stepped the crumbled remains of a rusted guard rail- the guns remained silent, and Sanford's suit whirred noisily as he ducked through the gate frame of the wooden and metal stockade that sealed the property in.
She had to admit, while crude- it was effective- the walls were sturdy, and when she squeezed through the frame after him, she saw the concrete plat that the rain-cover was stilted over on the building's side, where vehicles used to refuel- and that kept things from coming underground.
"It took me and Han' ages to get this place the way it is," Sanford sighed happily as he stood next to the doorframe into the station's main building- he scanned about a makeshift garden, a large, lightly rattling machine that was by the side of a former cafe window of the building. "That's our power generator."
"What does it run on, monsieur'?" She asked, standing beside him and looking about these things that had apparently kept Sanford going for almost a decade out here.
"Solar. We have panels on the roof of the rain cover," He pointed up. "It's always so arid out here, that the thing can keep going for a few days without light. Pretty neat, huh?"
"Mm."
"Where'd the robot go now...?" Sanford glanced about. "Han'? Where are you?"
"NOWHERE!" -Came from the rear of the building- where Sanford knew the garage door for the main shack was.
"Your pet crows missed you, huh? The bread didn't go stale?"
"...SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"
"Ah-ha, good old Han'."
"Crows, mon ami'?" She asked, musing.
"Hancock would never admit that he has a soft side- he has a whole flock of scavenger birds that show up here every now and again, give's them bread."
"Shocking, for a being of his caliber."
"Oh yes."
"...And, how long have you..."
"-Lived here?" He finished for her. "A long time. Years, not the whole time I've been in the wastes, but, most of it. So... What do you think? Anticlimactic for how much we've talked about it? Really neat? What?"
"I've only settled in a place once in my life, monsieur'," She said. "I think any community where people work together is a good thing, even if it's only two, now, three, I suppose."
She continued to observe about the simple property with an intrigued glistening in her flaming, bright eyes- her expression was subtle, a meek smile, over mostly monotone.
Sanford nodded at her feedback- he followed her gaze to the garden, the generator- and then they both turned and looked into the ajar doorframe of the station's little shack- the building that Sanford and Hancock had called home.
Sanford blinked- held a finger up for her.
"Hold on, I'm getting out of the armor." -Then he stepped through the frame with a tiny whine of the gears in his suit's hip-section- as he had to duck a tad to avoid clocking his headgear's cranium on the top rim.
Sanford vanished inside the shady interior- and for a moment of silence in this new place, the Deathclaw was left to stand in the dull light inside the little fortified place.
These walls that Sanford had built on all sides of the property made it look like a little rectangle of isolation- besides the obvious safety they provided, the only thing she didn't like about the station was that it was really, really... Small.
Truthfully, she was a bit smaller than most of her kind- her pack mates far in the past had told her that it was a common thing with members of their enlightened kind- something about trading instinct for intellect- though she personally thought it was bull'.
She was still looking about the place- mostly held in shade from the reddened sky above, and from the gaze of the sun as it set in the distance. She peered through the crack between the top of the walls and the pump-shade roof of the station's side.
Held aloft by two stripped pillars of titanium- this cover had once served as the base for a quadruple set of 'Gas Pumps'- near mythical things that humans had used in a sort of- 'Golden Age'- before the Earth was ruined, to refuel automobiles.
She found the picture hard to form in her head- as every single machine that Sanford said was fueled by these pumps- all the cars, the trucks- they were rusted, and ruined... She didn't know what a working ground vehicle looked like.
Sanford said that the wheels were kind of like the ones she had seen on the artillery piece being towed by the Minutemen during that close call on the railroad tracks- but there were gasoline powered engines that made the wheels turn without the chassis being pulled or towed.
The idea was fascinating, if not a bit far fetched, to her.
The Deathclaw felt that tickling energy in herself again- the emotions -the ones she liked that Sanford brought back- things she hadn't felt since her time in the pack.
Her pack had been wiped out by the Enclave, because they eventually found her.
...They would eventually find her here too.
...They'd burn this place. They'd burn the loudmouthed robot, they'd burn Sanford.
Suddenly, her good mood was dumbed down. She frowned.
"Alright, I'm back!" Sanford practically hopped out from the archway behind her- he was in... Regular clothing. That was new.
"No protective armor, monsieur'?" She observed, turning, scrutinizing him with a curious stare.
Sanford shrugged and patted his chest with his gloved hand.
"Stuff gets stuffy- eh? -And besides, I'm tired of being metal-man for today... I have to come out of the suit sometimes."
"...I can SMELL why..." She half chuckled and grimaced at the same time- her nostrils compressing to her snout. "Oh, mon ami', you DO need a bathing hour or two."
"...Ugh," Sanford angled his head down and agreed with a wince. "Yep. Smells like death- my old man would say that- 'It smells like DEATH in here, Sanford! DAMN!' -Ha! I can see his face."
"Hmhm." She sounded muffled as she put a claw over her snout.
"Alright-alright, I'll BATHE, gosh," Sanford melodramatically joked. "Take a look around, I'll be fixing my stench."
"...NOTHING, fixes monkey-stench, Mr. Baboon!"
Sanford huffed.
"I'll be inside. You wanna' try the bath after me?"
"...Will I... Fit? Mon ami'?" She quizzed.
"Yeah, you should be able to- maybe a bit of a squeeze, but, I think you'll be good."
"Mm."
"Be back in a bit."
"DO take your time..."
-0-0-0-0-0-
There was this big aluminum contraption- a different one from the generator -that was built along the back of the building, and had three gathering funnels that protruded from its top, fed into pipes, and then into a makeshift filter that Sanford had found on a swimming pool.
The water went into a tank underneath the foundation of the shack- where it was stored, and connected to a tub and shower line that Hancock had actually found, one time during a trip through Boston city.
Before they had made the shower and the filter- Sanford mostly relied on trying to wash himself in ponds, or in rivers- like the one that flowed close by to his old house. That of course, resulted in more then one instance of being jumped by Mirelurks, and the like, so... The shower was a better option, by far.
There was a little bathroom that Sanford had gutted, it was attached to the rectangular room he slept in, the one with his mattress, all of his personal belongings- he had originally been planning to put in an auxiliary generator or some other extra power system... Instead, the need to eradicate his stench drove him to put the shower together.
So, now out of the armor- Sanford stepped through a tiled doorframe, and into the aluminum, shiny bowl of the main tub- with a gleeming showerhead hanging directly zenith above his cranium.
There was a pulley that hung beside the head- and Sanford was smiling in anticipation to actually getting himself somewhat clean after almost a week without anything to go on.
He was naked- and the mostly detail-lacking little cell that the tub was in was perfect for the isolation he preferred for such things- that any NORMAL person would prefer for such things. The cool air inside the station was a change from the arid temperatures outside- it felt weird, but pleasing against his skin.
He turned a crank that was roughly bolted into the grimy tile of the wall by the tub's right flank- that was for the heating- and he snatched up a bottle of soap, the brand-lable long gone, the cap yellowed from age.
Sanford reached up and slowly yanked the pulley down.
He was graced with steam flooding the tub as lukewarm water trickled out, and then released fully in a soft fall- it descended across his dirt-matted face, down his shoulders, across his healed chest- the water felt amazing.
Sanford wasted a good minute just taking in the feeling- soon, there was a ghostly fog consuming the two chambers, he uncapped the soap and started working as best he could to get himself smelling less like a pile of dead skunks.
Most of the dirt and grime was easy to get off- and after a few more minutes, he had drained the first bottle, fumbled with a grasping hand outside the tub, and picked up another spare that was seated by the tub's top left foot.
They had never found any shampoo, or face wash, or anything specific like that- you know, pleasantries that people NOT in a constant survival situation could live with- so Sanford pretty much had to use the same kind of soap, just plain old body wash, for everything.
Not that it was BAD, it was better than nothing. Listen, he'd rather have some form of cleaning chemical than nothing at all. Soap was soap, he'd live, even if sometimes it dried out his scalp- he and Hancock would have to go to the Super-Duper Mart down in the city again, see if any conditioner or something was lying around...
Post-War grocery shopping. Huh.
At least it was free.
...If you could find it, and if someone didn't shoot you for it.
But it was free! So, ha!
Smiling at the anthology- Sanford finished up after maybe twenty minutes- the last of the dirty water vanished in a small tornado-like extension down into the drain of the tub, where it would be met by the series of filters, recycled back into the rain tank.
Sanford would have to remember to throw in more tablets for the filter outside. That's what was keeping the water constantly reusable, after all.
He stepped out into the steamy, cool air of the bathroom cell- he grabbed up a towel and started working it across his arms, his legs, humming to himself.
After just one wash, he already felt a million times better- he still kind of reeked, but, a few more showers and that would hopefully stop.
Using a knuckle to twist the towel's edge through his ear, he stepped into his makeshift bedroom, and stood beside his mattress- peering over it, at the iron shelves that were built into the wall on the rear right side of the room- the little display place he didn't look at a lot.
There were some old broken military models that were on the shelf, things he had salvaged from his old house- his father's wristwatch was there, and some pieces of his mother's jewelry.
Sanford stepped around the side of the mattress, and he looked across all of the stuff he had lined up, neatly. The plastic military vehicles, that all were broken, or missing parts in some way shape or form... The dulled gold of a pair of rings, a thin chain-band necklace, and the rusty silver of his father's watch, forever stuck at the time of the day when the nuke had dropped.
Sanford bent lower and looked at the arms- the minute arm was on '2', the second a little after it, and the hour on '8'.
...So, what was that, again? He remembered, but he couldn't remember it now specifically, all of a sudden...
Ah.
8:20. AM.
That had been when his life was forever changed.
A time capsule, almost- if not one that Sanford could only access, because everything that watch reminded him survived only through his memory, his heart.
Sanford sighed, he ran a finger down the side of the little contraption- all that rust, good grief, his father would've had a fit! Ha!
...If it mattered anymore. By this point, if his old man was still alive, he'd just be happy to see his son.
He remembered what the Deathclaw had said- that maybe his parents WERE possibly out there, and that, maybe they were alive. Sanford had already had this internal debate enough, the usual stuff he tormented himself with- all the - 'What would they say?' -crap.
But, really, what WOULD they?
He was a man now, he was almost six feet tall, he was stronger, he was smarter, he cursed like a truck driver and he shot people almost every other day of the week...
Little Sanford, the boy with the same friends, the same parents his whole life, the boy with the little rural house in New England, the boy who was innocent and didn't even understand the prospect of how cruel other people could be...
Had turned into-
...He looked down at his chest, at his stomach, his legs, his genitals, his feet, he raised his hands up to his eyes...
-Had turned into this.
...Wow.
Looking back on it was an experience too. Maybe it was better if he didn't do it.
Sanford threw the towel over his shoulder- he turned around and went to head back towards the bathroom-
"OHGOD! W-WHA'?!"
The Deathclaw stood in the doorway, and her expression was unreadable.
A good moment passed with sheer stupefaction rattling around through Sanford's system- his eyes were wide, mouth open, arms on either side of him.
The Deathclaw was at a similar loss of what to do- because, actually, the only reason this was awkward for her was because she knew humans wore clothes to cover up the same stuff she and her packmates had been perfectly comfortable with allowing the breeze to hit whenever they walked around.
So, seeing Sanford naked was weird for her- but against her better judgement, she couldn't exactly say she regretted it. Although, Sanford's opinion, was questionable.
There were no words up until this interval, mind you- Sanford just looked at her, gawking, and she just blinked at him, neutral.
Eventually, she tore her eyes from his, and glanced downwards at him- examining for a second, she nodded, and gave off a- 'Hm.' -of satisfactory understanding.
Sanford flinched, looked down at himself- and snatched the towel off his shoulder to bundle it, two-handed, over his crotch.
"Well, grand garcon', now I know." She smiled.
"-Is-Is that so?" Sanford stuttered.
"Oui'."
"...Can you, like, uhm... You know... LEAVE? Please?"
"Oh, certainly, mon ami', I wouldn't wish to impose." She snickered- flicking her fingers in the most unbelievably provocative wave of departure he had seen from her. As if to make the point- her tail arced in the doorframe longer than it should have.
Sanford stood in the gradually lowering mist of his room, blinked a few times, and scrambled back towards the bathroom- tying the towel around his waste.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Later on, he changed into new clothes, threw the old ones in a bucket to be washed later- and found Hancock working on something in the garage.
"-H-Hey man, what're you doing?" Sanford smiled sheepishly- coming into the garage through the side entrance from the lobby.
Hancock looked up with one ocu-lense from where he had been focusing on Sanford's X-01 armor that was hung in the wrack they had salvaged from the same APC a week ago.
"Well, the good news is, sir, no systems are critically damaged!" Hancock proudly proclaimed. "The bad news is, I dunno' how long it's gonna' take to fix the cuirass, but you've got THREE breaches! THREE! Where the hell do we even find parts for that?!"
"Damn... I don't know, Han'. You think there were any spare parts in the APC? I found another helmet back there, but..."
"None that we saw, sir! And we're THOROUGH! Like Wipes!"
"...Right."
"Sir, I think you might have to deal with some, er... HANDICAPS, for awhile, eh?"
"The suit's kept me alive this long," Sanford stepped beside the robot- he ran a hand down the blackened, twisted gash that had kind of merged with the wrenched one below it to form a mauling on the breastplate. "I'll see if I can seal it with some plating... We have any steel left over? I know we have copper."
"All the brittle shit!" Hancock ranted- he zipped over to one of the trunks they had laying around the garage section- the lid flicked open with such force that the entire piece shook.
Hancock mumbled all kinds of obscenities- his claw dashed inside, slapped around all kinds of flaps of metals they had collected over the years- objects that could be melted down, cut up, a pile of resources that Sanford used in repairing weapons most of the time.
"It's all these stupid car parts, I tell ya'!"
"Well those are steel, those will work."
"B-But, SIR!"
"...What?"
"Some of them came from-" Hancock made an exasperated gasp, and held up a hubcap in his claw, all three ocu-lenses focusing on Sanford's face. "-from-VOLKSWAGON!"
"...I'm sorry, what?" Sanford shook his head. "I don't even understand what you're-"
"THEY'RE NAZI-MOBILES, SIR! TAINTED, POISONED METAL!"
"...You do understand, that, World War 2 is, like, nearly four hundred years in the past... right?"
"NAZI-MOBILES!"
"Guess I did- Nazi -that coming. Ha! Eh? Get it?"
"..."
"...Fine. Be that way, robo-douche'."
"You deserve the Nazi-tainted metal, just for that!" Hancock underhand tossed the cap at Sanford, who barely caught it with his right.
"...Okay, sure. I deserve the tainted metal, right on." Sanford nodded sarcastically as Hancock zipped out of the garage, and left him pondering the authenticity of the robot's statements that he was in control of his insanity.
Shaking his head, he stepped over to the trunk and dumped the hubcap back into it, where it clattered among all the metal inside- he used his foot to shut the lid.
"So this is your working area, monsieur'?" The Deathclaw leaned in from the doorframe that Hancock had vanished out of- she didn't meet his gaze, but he had his brows narrowed acussingly- the incident prior still fresh in his mind.
She noticed him staring at her silently, and she shrugged- he took observation that she was smiling this whole time- her reptilian chops curled upwards.
"Is there something wrong, mon ami'?" She practically chirped.
"Oh, gee', yeah, NOTHING," He shrugged. "Except that not everyone likes having their junk examined!"
"T'was an accident, monsieur'," She said with mocked exasperation. "If it's worth anything to you, I'll admit I like what I saw."
Sanford cocked his head at her.
...Really now?
That was... Interesting. Disturbing.
He could guess her angle, but, he didn't bother- he just chewed his tongue, inhaled, and responded with-
"-That's not funny."
"Quite the contrary, VERY interesting though," She laughed, leaning on the frame with her shoulder- she ground the sides of her nails together on both her finger sets. "Different from one of my kind's."
"How would you know?"
"I'm an adult, monsieur'."
"...Sure, I respect that. You and this guy you've told me about not have a platonic relationship?"
"Why does it matter to you?"
"..."
"Mmmm. Caught, are we?"
"Eyeing the monkey, are we?"
"It's like you said, monsieur', we only live once. I regret nothing for admitting that with pride." She crossed her arms over her belly, tail flicking over her right ankle.
"...Alright, that's... Great?"
"Mm."
"...Why?"
"Why what, monsieur'?"
"Why are you telling me this?"
"It would be wrong not to, in my eyes."
"So then explain to me what it is."
"Sexual tension? Really?"
"So that's what this is? Sexual tension?"
"Mmmm... Maybe." She aluded.
"...Hm."
"Mm?"
"...So, um... What's a Deathclaw dick look like?"
"A little less ugly, darker, retractable."
"Ugh! Christ! What the shit?!"
"Hmhm." She mused at him. "...You never answered my other question, monsieur'."
"What?"
"What does my past matter to you? I thought I was just the big lizard, you had pas'd'interet'?"
"Am I not allowed to ask?"
"Sur'."
"...Okay, so... Off you go, tell me."
"Tell ME."
"Tell you what?"
"Why. Does. It. Matter?"
"...You know what, I don't even know how this-THIS," He gestured for her, and then him. "I don't even know how something like that would work, girl."
"What if we discovered it could work?"
"Then- I-I... I... I dunno'."
"..." She looked down and filed her claws together, her tail was still, draped by her side. "...If I answer your question, would it affect your answer to mine?"
"...No."
"Non'?"
"No. Because it's not right to."
"...The answer is no, monsieur', he was blown to pieces before I could ever touch him." She still wasn't looking at him- her thin, yellow eyes narrowed. "...I understand what I am, I understand what you are. But... But monsieur', I live in a world where almost anything is possible.
I see something in this, I don't know if it's long term, or goes past something I can entirely explain. I... I could use more poetic words, romance' connerie'... But I like you."
"...So you would be willing to open yourself up in that kind of way, to a guy you only know a week? A guy who's a smelly monkey? Not even the same species?"
She shrugged lightly.
Sanford realized he was still standing by the front of the trunk he and Hancock had been sifting through. He looked down at it, and sighed heavily.
His life was pretty much just a boring continuance of the motions anyway... They really hit it off, it was the most insane thing he could've ever thought to be suggested, but, than again, she was pretty spot on- this was the same Earth that had been nuked and survived for two-hundred years.
"You know, listen," Sanford said. That at least got her to look at him again. "I will be the first to admit, that there are some, very, VERY serious, physical things about us, that not only make the whole thing harder to comprehend, but could also result in one of us getting hurt, just remember that.
I'll also admit, that for me, it would be hard to adjust to, and I think the idea of that would be hard for YOU to adjust to as well, I mean... I'm basically a walking monkey, and you're basically a walking crocodile, like, let's be honest,"
Her shoulders hopped with laughter- she grinned at him.
"-But, in the time I've known you, I think I've got a somewhat accurate idea, of who you are as a person, and... If you want to start, to try and work our way up to something like that? What you're considering? I would be willing to try."
"...Work our way up? Explain that to me, monsieur'."
"I think you know," He smiled. "Let's just keep learning about each other. Give it time. I would be willing to try that first, before anything else."
"...Mm."
"Does that sound, reasonable? To you?"
"...Sur'. Sur', it does, monsieur'."
"Good. So let's just keep doing what we're doing. Okay?"
"...Okay."
"Did you see if you could fit into the shower?"
"...I can't fit into it, monsieur', too small."
"Huh... I used to use the river by my house, maybe when we're done looking around, I'll give you some soap, give it a try?"
"I've never used that chemical before, monsieur'."
"Stuff works great! I don't smell like a pile of horse crap anymore BECAUSE of soap."
"...Yes, perhaps, a diminished, pile of shit, monsieur'."
"...Ouch."
"Hmhm."
-0-0-0-0-0-