Abe tensed, jaws clenching together with the effort of not picking up the man and throwing him across the room into a tray of reconstituted eggs. All that and how he was being patronized by some idiot who'd probably never known grief and death so intimately. He twisted his wrist sharply and trapped the intruding hand in a tight grip.

Kaido Kio. Artist. Nothing of worth. The flashing headache only served to invigorate him.

"You didn't even know who she is," Abe hissed, the fingers of his other hand curling around the knife. His voice grew louder as he spoke, filling with uncharacteristic hate. "How dare you say what would be the best homage to her memory, how dare you say anything about her as if you knew what I've gone through? You aren't worthy to know her name, let alone talk about her like she was some mere...human!" He spat out the last word like it was a worm in his eggs. After their exposure and her death, he'd started to see why Nuada considered them mindless parasites at best.