Narration (Kore): Old wounds ache with the atmosphere's pressure changes...giving me rheumatism at night.

Narration (Kore): I don't have to hold back the hurt anymore. Swordfish took Shane to put him to bed. ‘I'm in enough trouble as it is without you tagging along to mess things up.’

Narration (Kore): I should try to enjoy the chill...let it thicken my blood and dull my reflexes. ...or at least...

Narration (Kore): He knows how to make a warm jacket. That man understands...the cold...

Kore: Di?

Kore: Whoa...what happened to you?

Translation(Di): Immense state dinner.

Translation(Di): Unparalleled but disastrous wine cellar.

Kore: Want me to get rid of the booze head for you?

Di: No! Damned telepaths!

Kore: Suit yourself. You'll have a killer hangover tomorrow.

Di: Memorize these by tomorrow for the campaign. I gotta puke.

Kore: Well don't do it on the carpets.

Di: Don't you dare try to stop me!

Di: You're just like him. I despise you for not fixing that scar.

Kore: Get some rest Prime Minister.

Kore: One would expect a Satanist to indulge in mortal sins more often...and with greater finesse.