"Oh yeah? Why would you buy the same perfume as my mother, that's so weird."

(Clay's stifling his giggles with a hand over his mouth.)

"I didn't--"

"Have you ever considered Lynx Africa. You don't have to wear perfume."

"Maybe I want to!"

"There are so many different smells you could have."

"I thought your mother smelled really good, so I was like, oh, why not copy her, you know?"

"That's so obscure. She'd probably shout at you, as well."

"She would never shout at me. ...Well."

(Clay completely loses it and starts cracking up.)

"This is a terrible joke, I am having a terrible time, I am being harassed--"

"Wow, your shop project is kind of trash."

"You're so American. Trash."

“Rubbish.”

“It’s so rubbish!” …Squint. “Wait, that’s actually—that’s actually horrible! Do you, like, want help—”

“Yeah well I would’ve fucking had help from my study group, prick.”

“I feel like you’ve— please tell me you made it this bad on purpose.”

“Don’t be mean, I like him! He’s special!”

“Alright, well, he’s awful.”

“Alright, fine. How do I make it better, then, Mr. Artificer?”

“Give it here, I’ll fix it.”

“No, you’ll steal it from me, I know what you do.”

“Fine, keep it then.”

“Can I go to the rest of the library?”

“Yes. I mean, as long as you don’t go talk to—your old friends. Like, the whole point of this is, they were, they were enabling you. So as long as you don’t go talk to them, sure, you can go to the rest of the library.”

“And what happens if I go talk to them?”

“Thennnnnn I stop protecting you and you die.”