"If it's not YOUR metric, what exactly are you accusing me of being immature about?"

With a huff of impatience, Quentin plunks himself down amongst the flowers and goes about picking another pile of them without every leaving his seat. Just the valuable ones of course. The one's they'll offer him more for at the market. "I guess. Unless something fucked up happens on the next island. Then all bets are off.

Kind of high strung, huh? Yeah. It's weird when there's quiet in your head where there used to be a voice."