''I'm sorry, okay? If some robot insults me over my scars, I'm gonna freak out. It's not something I can control. I just... Freak out whenever someone mentions my scars in a negative context.'' Waterfront said.
''Where'd they come from, anyway...?'' Sabre quietly muttered.
Waterfront leaped up, clinging on to REM's chassis as she sent another surge of magic through his systems, twice as powerful. ''Those ponies you call low-class... At least they have some fucking balls! They don't sit out in their safe town all day, being posh cunts and doing nothing of value...
Waterfront looked at the ground for a moment before trotting up to REM again, her horn crackling with magic. ''In the end, none of you ''high-class'' individuals are any better than the wastelanders out there. You're just a bunch of posh cunts who think they mean something because they wear...
''No. It's not. Just because I bear the scars of some 13 years of roaming the wasteland doesn't mean I'm ''low-class''. Do you think I just went like ''oh, let's scar my own body'' one day? Because you're wrong. Half of these scars were inflicted by the slaver asshole who raped me pretty much...
''... I'm dirty, I admit. That's because I'm a wasteland wanderer. But these scars... Do you think I wanted these scars?'' Waterfront said, trotting up to REM.
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