His tone is laced with bitterness, almost unconsciously. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure they're all going lord of everything we've done as actually being their idea for the rest of our lives."

Her last comment just gets a nod; his focus is shifting, becoming hyperaware of the weapon in his hand, how it feels. Sometimes it's just easier to get lost in the physical than to be constantly apologising, or stopping himself from feeling things that are totally legitimate just because they're not positive.

It's not exactly like a spear. The trident requires more stabbing motions than something tha just has one point, and he fleetingly wonders how a weapon like this even evolved before it demands his attention again. Slowly, he begins o pick up speed, moving with more confidence, altering the drill to better fit the weapon.

"How's it looking?"