Brock laughed, nodded when Errol asked if he got the idea.  He also understood why it might be nigh irresistible to prank her - she was<i>so tightly wound</i>.  Watching her snap would be funny in a terrible way, like watching someone step on a rake so it broke their nose.<br/><br/>He said to Errol, "It's a circular system, yeah, I see that.  But, wait, wait, I got this one.  This is fuckin' witty.  'The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.'  I guess the nuns taught me something that stuck, after all."  Which wasn't true.  He'd read<i>Paradise Lost</i>several times when he was in the Sandbox.  He had great sympathy for Satan - the futility of the struggle, and his will to see it carried out at all costs.  All the other characters seem unimportant, fated to succeed and immensely proud of their fate, literally supported by divine providence in all their actions.  They were all puppets, except for Satan, who at least tried to cut the strings.  "And, Errol, I say this with total sincerity.  I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave."<br/><br/>He glanced to Chance, smirked.  "Now I feel gypped.  For some reason, that doesn't sound as gripping as the notion of half a dozen of you...."<br/><br/>When she put the bill on the table, his eyebrow perked up.  He got out his phone, said, "I got this, too.  My dance teacher loved this guy.  Juan d'Ariezo, del Rey del Compás."  It didn't take very long to find d'Ariezo on YouTube, and he put his phone's volume up to max.  Indoors, it was loud enough.<br/><br/>He stepped into the open and opened his arms.<br/><br/>"I presume that space faeries know how to tango."  Then he looked to Colin and said, "Maybe Errol will dance if she won't drink.  Something's gotta give or the girl's gonna go fucking nuts.  Nuttier."