Grant: Oh dear, you're upset at the signs. The little petty nasty signs. Your subjects don't like you, and you are the worst ingrate of the lot.

Xander: You think I'm going soft in my old age? Look, it's her. She hasn't had experience protecting herself from this kind of hysteria...mentally protecting herself...shy does she have to take this fight so public?

Xander: I don't know if she's safe, Rhelan. I've got to know. She can almost slip around my searches and if I'm not careful I could lose track of her entirely!

Grant: 1...2...3...

Grant: 4 5 6...7 8 9 ...10

Grant: If you actually cared about her. Why did you break her arms and all her fingers like a psychopath?

Thought(Grant): I've answered my own question.. years ago. It isn't pretty but neither is anything else in life. You have to face reality for what it is.

Thought(Grant): Reality is that I'll die in his...your arms one day, Eugene. Either at your hand, of of an old age that you can't combat. There will be no escape for me.

Xander: Tailgate party. It's traditional protests.