Summer completely breaks down into a fit of the giggles. “Honey, I am /way/ too old to be descended from you. If we’re related at all it’s way back in the mists of history. Also, not the kind of relations one normally associates with you.”
Tony smirks. Duly noted, Miss, though you have to realize with not giving the obvious informations straight away, you’re forcing me to ask the boring questions. Neither interesting to ask nor to answer, but you only have yourself to blame. Ts, wasting precious time of both of us if you ask me, you could use this time to enjoy my conversation genius on a much more pleasurable topic, but whatever, right?
So, super-human, mutant or alien? No multiple answers possible. Then you should tell me about your age, your name, and is it true the handmade socks are the most comfortable ones?
Summer can’t stop giggling now. The swift monologue is utterly uninterruptible, and she has to wrap her hands around her waist to catch her breath. He winds down, and she reels off the answers to his questions in like manner. “Mutant, shhh. I’m thirty-two, my name is Summer Rainault, and I wouldn’t know, I can’t make socks. I don’t /like/ socks. Bare feet are best. So much more sensation. Anything else?”