[Carlisle is about to note that Qubit is right — after all, he doesn't have to eat, drink, or even breathe if he doesn't want to, saving those resources for the rest of Anchor — but is instead drawn to the clutter in Qubit's private quarters. Not that his lab isn't cluttered, but this is a different kind of clutter: there are devices plugged into the wall, cylinders topped with what he recognizes as spray nozzles, and then —
Ah. A smile creeps under Carlisle's mask as eyes the combs and the stray, black hairs adoring them, his mind piecing together what all this is.]
It's not all that different from your usual mess, admittedly. [He says that with a hint of fondness.] Is this how you keep that mane of yours in place?
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Ah. A smile creeps under Carlisle's mask as eyes the combs and the stray, black hairs adoring them, his mind piecing together what all this is.]
It's not all that different from your usual mess, admittedly. [He says that with a hint of fondness.] Is this how you keep that mane of yours in place?