[ It's too bad for Bortz that Rutile was sitting in a patch of flowers only yards away, a trowel in their hand and dirt spattered on their lab coat. Now the mud covers their skin, too, and has gotten into the striations of their hair. Murder in their eyes, Rutile gets to their feet and stalks over to Bortz. ]

You absolute buffoon! You've just ruined several weeks of work for the sake of your temper!

[ They level an accusatory finger at Bortz, and then at their blade, strikingly unafraid of the much harder and taller gem. ]

Are you blind, or just a fool? Such violence is appropriate only in imminent danger; what have you to fear from flowers?