[Richie raises a single brow. So this is another case of the Amazons, huh? Looks not even half, not even a quarter, not even one three hundredth her real age. Then why does she sound so exactly like a put out teenage girl?

He'll never understand you, space.]

Then you've got to lend me whatever face cream you're using. I'm falling apart before my own eyes, only thirty-some pheobes into my precocious existence. [He takes a small drag on the cigarette (which only highlights why such decrepit misfortunes might be befalling him) before settling down across from her.] What's your name, oh ancient one? You can call me Rich.