[The Monster seems to put forth a little bit of effort to trying to understand Eliot's description of love, but it all sounds so... frivolous. In no way carrying the raw power and significance he feels like it should, the words seem inadequate and pointless. Things he has never experienced to his memory. Meaningless.]

So it is nothing... disappointing. [He settles on dismissively, though something still seems to bother him a tiny bit. Then he looks down at the offered cigarette, studying it for a pause before slowly reaching out and taking it.] I know of these. Cigaarettess. I have not played with them yet. But Quentin likes them too... is it another meaningless- love thing?

[He seems like he's almost gagging on the word love. He doesn't like it anymore because he doesn't understand but it still echoes. Then he sticks the cigarette in his mouth the wrong way.]