[ His hands inside the bag carefully cover the kit inside, a habit; he doesn't want to risk breaking them with all the running and jumping he has the tendency of getting around. Checks they are well padded to avoid anything breaking, careful with these things, precious treasures, more than anything. Zips the bag up, hoisting them over his shoulder and stands again, not looking at Prince when he speaks, fiddling with the straps to make sure the bag is in a comfortable position while in this ugly tight thermal suit. Someone ought to tell the designer that some people hate these things.

Finally, he looks up to him, face twisted in an ugly expression, lip curled, nose slightly scrunched up, one eyebrow raised. ]

I think you need a couple more cycles, because you suck at your job.

[ And he presses past Prince, shouldering him as he does, fingers wrapped around his strap tight. ]

You can say whatever bullshit you want. I'm not becoming like you.