Famine let out another quiet laugh at that; it was a point, and the kind of point he wouldn't really expect from anyone but Pollution. Then his expression grew thoughtful again as he nodded slowly. "I know what you mean." He glanced at the road ahead, darting his gaze briefly from side to side. "It's...progress, really. Leave humans alone long enough, they'll carve whatever suits them best out of the world around them. Can be fun to watch." He paused again, briefly, to gather his thoughts; Famine rarely spoke without thinking, without finding the best possible way to express himself.

"It's a bit strange, after living so long among humans…to see how quickly things have been changing in the past century. Almost more than they have been in the previous few. It's our job to keep up, to be constantly changing to suit the temperaments and advances of the humans around us, isn't it? I can't help feeling that, in all the progress, there's...an art, almost, to the job that's been all but lost." He broke off, shaking his head, and chuckled softly, a slightly rueful grin on his face. "Now I know I've been spending too much time with the poets," he murmured. The presence of starving artists was, after all, no coincidence. It was the part of his job Famine enjoyed most; in every era of the world, there would be idealists working to make their living from art, music, poetry. Still, their age was all but over. It was almost sad, in way; although Famine could view it as simply business he was losing, he knew it was slightly more than that.