[His own laugh lasts a bit longer, though it's more a bit of a mocking tone than Penelope's had been.] Love is for chumps. Been there, done that. Got the shirt and everything, luv. But it works for chumps, I suppose.

[He takes his cigarette from his mouth and puts it out on an end table- no respect for anything, it would seem- and leans forward, his face little more than a blurry image among the nicotine haze.] 'less you want me to do all this willy-nilly. Your face is required. And as far as your money? You don't need to worry about it. Everything will be fine.