Narrator: The arguing is over, and the council has new leadership.
Rod: My name is Rod, and my people are the bradicor. You can call me 'Your Honor.'
Fobottr Tenant: Your honor, are you immortal?
Rod: No, but my people are immune to any further effects of aging.
Fobottr Tenant: But... By our current laws, that means one of you will always be the senior councilor.
Rod: Eh, you'll get tired of me and pass new laws, or have us all assassinated. Toppling a gerontocracy is always good, clean fun.
Narrator: Cynicism in the ruling class? What a concept.
Metisoid Tenant:
Frapp: