Patrick is incensed at Adam's words, but…

"You... read?" He raises a curious eyebrow.

The crowd of other Red Cats and Bats gathers, surrounding the pair. None of the lesser imps have the bravery nor desire to consume each other—there is no point in disrupting the balance of the status quo. They do not wonder nor think. They do not care about their circumstances or their role or about being puppets on a string. All they can think about is food, and these two are brimming with Mania. However, this meeting of higher minds might bear some interesting fruit. Perhaps there will be a fight and in every fight there is a loser and the loser might become a feast. They watch, stomachs growling. Drool drips from every jowl and maw.

Adam responds, "A bit."

The air goes stale. Then a conversation ignites.

"Order." Patrick says.

"Justice." Adam responds.

"Sense." Patrick.

"Meaning." Adam.

"Spite." Patrick spits back.

"Spite." Adam's mouth twitches at the side, "Precisely."

Patrick narrows his eyes, "Precisely."

They circle each other, neither one losing the thread of the discussion. The pair are in constant motion, but do not step closer to the other, instead choosing to orbit in their little space. They circle and circle and circle and they never tire from the repartee. It is clear they have a shared knowledge. They agree with each other and it only drives the conversation deeper and deeper into a never-ending spiral of pure concepts...