Wondering if he is miscast—

It’s tense, you know? It’s awkward. I love the name Full Blood, but it’s not really me. I’m pretty mellow. I don’t do blood. I’m a lover, not a fighter, you know? And people are all eyeballing me, and it’s like—am I supposed to do something here? My friend Mars was all mocking me, No, gorgeous, you just float there and look pretty. Now, Mars, he’s a Full Blood type. He’ll strip the skin off of your people—they don’t even know. They should beware. But, anywho. Bear in mind, I’m not complaining. There are worse things.

Consider the Sun—

Nobody can look at you. Like, people are brought up taught to not look at you directly or suffer forever-type physical, you know, visual maladies. It’s awful. She’s a trooper, though. Mostly. Most times. I mean, there are those times when she just sorta cracks and lets out these crazy bursts and blasts—all for attention. And I’m like, Sun, you’re gonna kill the thing you want to love you. Saddest thing is that she really is the prettiest of us all. I mean, I would never look all sexy that once in a while if it weren’t for her throwing me that come-hither glow. And, let’s face it, Mars and me, the Earth, all of us, we’re just slaves to her whims. She’s got us all on a string. Anywho. Time to relax.

On being thought of as a threat or bad omen when in Full Blood makeup—

It’s all good. I actually like the idea of becoming a wolf or something. Oh, wait. What? Oh, well, that’s cool too, making some people turn into wolves. That’s sorta fierce. Can I really do that? No, that’s a good question, no, I haven’t really tried to do that. Ha, yeah, yet.