[ Not only are those observations not flattering, they kind of cut into some Issues the big guy has been dealing with as of late. So uh, good job there. ]

Love having the feeling of a poison? Hmm.

[ He crosses his arms and considers it. The pilots Yzak and Dearka seem constantly troubled by their partnership, their pack leader Lacus has gone through two mates. The fiery hunter Ishmael has had to lay her own partner to rest, surely alongside part of her heart

And then his own situation. The absence of Mothra, the feelings he's grappled with that could never possibly be returned. The sting he sometimes feels, the burn in his blood that's an unpleasant simmer rather than the blazing fire of battle or rage... ]

"Love dwells not in our will," as Byron wrote. There is little hope to ensure it is not poisoned in nature, one supposes.

[ So. Now he's bothered. He lets out a grumpy sigh, smoke bellowing from his nostrils. ]