The Self-deaf'ined Exchange

What Ruby extracted was bright yellow. It gleamed like wax, but you could tell it was kinda brittle from how she guided it with the tips of her fingers. It sorta looked like a mildly-grilled waffle. She fell to her knees and grieved: "Oh Pedestals and their Branching razors... please forgive me; I feel we had no choice." And she cradled it, rocking.

Gurjivow snarled, "That's enough sentimental energy; no more, or the mental-link will diffuse the essence of my particular need. Then it won't resolve payment."

Ruby’s tears spilled anew; her eyes rolled back so you could hardly see the pupil, gleaming ghastly white. She crunched into a bow, and her dangling chest heaved through immense turbulence, however silent.

"So," Rovone ventured. "What does that thing do?"