“Well,” Ladybug begins, “if I’m being really honest, that’s one really ephed up question, man. Man? You are a man?” … “Okay, great. So, you know what I mean? Right? It’s weird to ask about how someone tastes. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I guess there are some people who are into that sorta shit, but I’m not one of them. I can tell you, though, that Dei, she always smells like something fresh coming out of the oven.” Ladybug moves in closer and looks around as if making sure no one can hear, “Rumor has it that Dei smells like everyone’s memory of their mother. Sad story, I suppose, if you never knew your mother. I mean, everyone has a mother, but maybe some don’t know who theirs are, and that’s alright. No harm. So, I suppose, if you don’t know what your mother smells like, then getting a whiff of Dei would, theoretically, as theoretical as rumors go, smell like your mother.” Satisfied, Ladybug sits back on its haunches and rids its hands of any responsibility.