Andromache snorted gently at Booker's teasing, flinging her discarded shirt across at his head with a laugh. "If the point was to get me shirtless they didn't even enjoy the nice part," she said dryly, entirely sarcastic: she liked her body well enough, it did what she needed it to and she took care of it. Her breasts were entirely a side-effect, though a nice one.

"Don't look at me, I can write my name but not do art like you all. Unless you can do lip-prints with this stuff."