"Can't say I have, they're a bit of a rarity here." I say, almost as if stating a fact. "Then again, I've got bigger priorities than keeping an eye out for the ladies. Like surviving Demtof."
I continue to stab my fork into the hay, prodding for any more pieces of dung. Picturing the piles as my sadistic superior helps (it's the only thing keeping me going, really) and I find myself stabbing them with unnecessary vigor at times.
"Man's training is suicidal. It wouldn't surprise me if he lives off of our misery or tears or something. You ask me, he's the 'Venge in the flesh."
I move onto the next pile, and dig out a rock or what could pass for one. The stuff looks old enough to be an antique, so much that it might as well pass as furniture or some dumb crab's prized trophy.
Hehe, mine now, sucker...
"So Dally," I begin, stuffing my newfound collectible into a pocket. "What are you in for?"