[ Even as a self-loathing mockery, even in a simulacrum of vileness, he can't bring himself to do it. He can't bring himself even to mimic it. The thought of her afraid is too much for him to be able to bear. Hell, he can barely even cope with the knowledge he's caused her sadness. No: he wants her furious, livid, not...

He shrugs, casual as anything, and looks away. ]

No, thanks. I'm not about to force myself on you. [ Then, with a mocking little bow - ] That's a little bit too typically Vorish for my tastes. I consider myself something of a separate breed, after all.