( It's a good stick, fine and thick and long and reliable. He weighs it in both hands, nodding along as if impressed — truly, as if he had never in his life anticipated such a stick entering his possession. He is entirely overcome now that it has.

This stick will change his world. Why, look how he knocks it in the puddle! )

That's not how that works. ( He speaks, somehow, as if he expects her to know everything he does already. ) Just give up on. These people are... doomed. ( Said, possibly, with the air of an eyeroll. Doomed, or whatnot. )

But it'll annoy him a lot if you take his thing away. He doesn't like that. So I'm just here to tell you to do it. And keep it away. He'll have to come back here and put another one instead, if he wants to hold on to this place. That hurts him. A lot.

( He doesn't add, but seems to want to: Good. )