“ you know nothing of my work - of my intelligence. how dare you undermine my research! all of my hard work! “
“oh,　i think i know　plenty.”　　henley refutes with ease.
herbert fancies himself an intellect—a scientist.　　she’s all too eager to　break　such a　delusion.　　is he a man or a mouse?　　the answer is quite obvious.　　sniveling,　weak,　a fragile ego…　　he’s a poor man’s imitation of a genius.　　like a child’s drawing,　crudely made and shackled together.
“your…　　research,　i shall call it,　is…　　quaint.”
it’s a kinder way of putting it,　but even so,　henley makes her　cruel intentions　obvious　through her stare and tone combined.
“it’s commendable,　really.　　how much you can　learn　by essentially　smashing　sticks and rocks　together.”
like a lowly caveman.
“it’s how humans discovered　fire,　after all…　　a great tool,”　　she stares at him down her nose,　her figure imposing and cold,　　”but　useless　in the hands of a　fool.”
