[ solo is never quite certain if he is truly becoming more fluent in illya-nese or if he is closer to a broken clock, right twice a day. his success rate when guessing implies the former rather than the latter, at least. the flipside of it is that he thinks peril must be growing more adept at reading him in return, and the thought of being known is as appealing as it is frightening. ]

You might have heard the capitalist saying, even behind the wall: life isn't fair.

[ he points a spatula, headmaster-like. ] Do pass the bacon, would you? And chop the mushrooms, if you wouldn't mind.