( Okay, admittedly, this does smell a lot better than microwaved gas station burritos — his primary form of sustenance for the last five-odd years, alongside hot pockets, slurpees, and poptarts. His diet has less to do with an inability to cook, and more to do with a repressed appetite and general apathy. Why bother, when you're not hungry and you're just going to die any time in the next six to forty weeks? )

You're making it really hard to dislike you, and I'm not sure how much of that has to do with the free limbs. If you can make me slightly taller somehow, it'll be four point nine with a complaint in the comment section.

( This is honestly a feat. After Dr. V, it's a miracle his guard has dropped as much as it has since walking in here. Maybe it's because everything about McCoy feels like the exact opposite — where Dr. Vicedomini is manipulatively nice and made up of a series of mind games and microaggressions, this guy feels like super-honest strangely genuine-aggressions. He also hasn't bragged a single time about his abundance of extra medical degrees, so that's a nice change of pace. )