Victor Reilly stepped up onto the back of the couch, beer in hand, looking as if he was about to say something.
He fell from the couch, striking the ground and spilling his beer everywhere. He stood back up, looking down at the puddle his beverage was now making.
He laughed out loud, then went to get another beer.
"He's enjoying himself quite a bit for someone you said had no emotions," Bruteforce said to Phil.
"He has a lot going on on the surface," Phil replied.
"Huh?"
"He can enjoy himself. In a sense. He'll respond to anything immediate."
"So if he wasn't here he'd be out picking a barfight or getting laid."
"Exactly," Phil said. "But there's nothing going on under that. If you went over there and pissed him off, he'd probably take a swing at you, but tomorrow he'll be back to having no opinion of you."
"He can't hate, then."
"Or love. Or respect. Or be depressed."
"That's fucked up."
"Yeah."
