Neverwinter Forest My Fifty-Mission Cap

She appreciated what Jackalope was trying to do—calling the man's mark a shitstreak. A different Simmik would have given and amused smirk and approving nod, but now it felt impossible to have any positive feelings when discussing this particular topic. All she felt was shame and anger and the urge to vomit whenever she was reminded of his violation. She wished she could offer more than a nod and a glance away as she tried to compose herself but that also felt impossible. 

And as much as she was struggling with speaking of the monster, Jackalope didn't appear to notice, or at least he didn't show any outward hints that he had noticed. Either way, she was grateful. 

His next comment caught her off-guard, but not at first. It wasn't until she put together what he was saying and looked over to meet his coy glance. She gave a small huff of amusement and raised an eyebrow. Does that mean I can call you a douche-trot the next time you annoy me? she asked, awkwardly repeating his strange insult. You know, since you've now come out as one yourself. What even was a douche-trot?