"They mean something to me. But Polite society and what they call common decency would likely not want to hear what they mean to me." Call him a renegade, a rude man, and a barbarian if you will, but Booker DeWitt will shy from no fight, nor from stating his opinions. It won him across a city and rescued a girl once from durance vile, and worse. A girl who turned out to be his daughter.

And he would walk that path forever, no matter the cost.

His eyes met hers, a little compassionate, and he smiled. And when he spoke, an old time southern drawl colored his voice like it belonged there. "Because I have walked through the valley of the shadow of death, dear lady, and I am afraid of no man, woman, nor destiny. Beliefs are sacred, and meant to be defended, held, cherished. If you wont defend your beliefs in the face of others looking down on you? Well, you're not very much of a person, in my opinion."

And he finished getting dressed, stretching his hands, and flame flickering along one hand, lightning rolling along the other, and almost a flicker of water around them both. He stood like a gunslinger, or a cowboy, or a soldier, and his gaze was both admiring and unafraid.

"Care for a drink with a confident fool?"