"I don't feel comfortable answering that.”
Thinking he could live out his ultimate fantasy, Cuchulainn wanted to post very specific personal ads in the streets. He liked to answer the ones he spotted, often for dog-walkers or landscapers, and chat people up to gauge their potential for this particular act. Everyone on the other side of the call was always aghast at his questions and would quickly hang up. When his uncle found out he had hijacked his dating apps (unsuccessfully), he was forced to take real action.
First of all, why was everyone so disagreeable? Why were they so unromantic? And, at the same time, so unrealistic? Did they think they were so perfect, so flawless, so innocent that his ideas could never pertain to them?
“We are all human!” he said to the librarian, who was once again caught up in Cuchulainn's schemes.
Humans need connection. Crave it, even. Cuchulainn just wanted something primal, but he wanted to see if the way we depict it in stories could be true. The heroes and villains he loved the most always had a strange, unbreakable bond. The only person that could understand the grisled detective was always the genius killer who kept slipping through his fingers. The king's mad twin brother knew him better than he knew himself. A hero always knows how to think like their nemesis, and their lives have no meaning without one another. As do their deaths. Cuchulainn just wanted to tango on equal footing with a challenger worthy of his own strength and brilliance. He needed to find his opposite.
“But how do we describe my opposite?”
“I don't feel comfortable answering that,” said the librarian.