Harper: Alone at last, big guy. Want to fuck?
Tyr: If we are to consummate our relationship, first you must partake of the marriage fruit.
Harper: Hey! Watch who you're calling a fruit, Uber.
Tyr: No, silly little man, this is the fruit.
Harper: Oh. Um. Oh-kay. Interesting shape. Very… organic, and in so many ways. So cut me off a slice.
Tyr: No. You don't eat the fruit. It is traditionally used to deflower Nietzschean maidens on their wedding night. In this case, however...
Harper: Tyr, you have got to be fucking kidding!
Tyr: No. Bend over... my darling.