"We don't say 'fire'," Darcy withdraws, absolutely unwilling to be caught lingering close to him, "back home, we say 'fight evil with evil. And your accent is awful."

Even if it isn't, it's a jab she can get at him. Darcy circles him, pacing, a combatant like a shark that must stay in motion to be effective. No lungs? Or perhaps she simply couldn't affect him yet. Maybe she still needed to get stronger.

"Back home we also say 'your mother fucks dogs, you bastard cunt', but you won't let me say that properly."