“Dead slugs must be very charming to you, then,” Cloud answered flippantly without bothering to look up from the art catalogue that was spread open on their lap. Even with their aesthetic glasses hanging off the slope of their nose, dying to be pushed up, the Gumiho appeared unruffled by the straightfoward manner of speech. Perhaps, had they been centuries younger, it may have torched a nerve...or all the nerves. However, Cloud was an individual confident in their own presentation - both physical and in personality, and truth be told, they simply had lost even the motivation to respond with the same tenacity that was offered to them. “Now, if you’re quite done with your cross examination of my appeal and what-not, don’t you have some screws to twist? Or perhaps a dent to pop?” The gumiho made a faint waving gesture. “Run along now.”