This stupid hunk of junk is working against me, I know it. Any pictures I take are trashed.

[ Huffing, he shows Nat the pad, all but handing it over if she wants to see (he really needs to liberate a pair of gloves from somewhere, eager to stuff his hands in his leather armpits again). She reminds him of a nicer version of Artemis, all the toughness of the Amazon without the scathing insults; the sass he doesn't mind, he's been ninety-percent sarcasm since taking a nosedive into the Pit.

White clouds puff in front of him, which they hardly seem to from her. Unfair. ]

Big Sister just wants us to go for a stroll whenever she's bored, bet you seven bucks.