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"What, not even once?"

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"We don't know how it works with familiars. No, not even once."

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Edarial snorts.

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"Words."

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"You realize," says Edarial, subtly slurring just a bit, "that saying that makes me want to just repeat the word 'words' over and over again. Like the counting."

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"Go ahead, if that's what it takes."

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"Okay."

"Words. Words, words, words, words, words, words -" He continues for a little while.
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Iobel listens, and holds his hand.

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He eventually gets tired of saying that, over and over again. He falls into a lull of silence.

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"Edarial."

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"Mmmm?"

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"What's your favorite color?"
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"Blue," he mumbles.

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"What kind of blue?"

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"Sky blue? I suppose?"
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"Sky blue's nice. I don't really have a favorite color but when people ask me I say brown."

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"Why's that?"

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"I don't really have a reason but when people ask me I say it's because of Cricket's colorpoints."

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"Mhmmm."

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"Words," says Iobel, squeezing his hand. "Am I losing you, do I have to start finding a tender spot and poking it?"

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"Not sure if... That would even help."

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"It'd be worth a try if the alternative was a coma. Stay with me, Edarial."

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"Trying," he agrees.

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"What's your favorite, um, fruit."

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"I'm not sure... Depends on the season."

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