[Elizabeth had no way to know that her attempt at a compliment would have the exact opposite effect. To Racter, it is empty flattery, and entirely unwelcome. And to think he was trying to be polite! No more of that. He remains smiling, but any mirth or good humor has been lost.]

Brilliant? They're garbage; barely functional compared to what I've built in the past. The wood is poor quality and roughly cut, the metal has not been tempered anywhere near to my satisfaction, the joints are too weak, and we won't even speak of the lack of any real weaponry. Not a single one has survived an encounter intact.

Yet they still do what is needed.

[His expression is a mockery of a teacher's patient gaze, his eyes begin to take a gold glint. She says wants the truth, she is so eager for it, and she shall have it. He simply no longer cares to present the convenient or pleasant one.]

Perfection does not exist. Do you think the medics will complain for an excess willing hands, trained or not? Or that arms are so difficult to come by? If you truly wanted to do something, you would be doing it, ability be damned.

If you are unable or unwilling to help, say so plainly. Admit it, and let the rest of us work. There is less shame in that than in excuses.