“What? Oh, Jesus Christ… you’re not the one who’s allowed to come to that conclusion. By bringing it up, you’re making me want to hold out longer.”
“Blood and… violence, Carlos?” He paused to look up at the dripping ichor that was coming from the ceiling. Well, coming from something that was on the ceiling. Hard to fit a giant man in a small booth after all. That sure was one heck of a handshake.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that. I’ve never liked that sort of thing. I have to close my eyes and drink plenty of herbal tea before I can handle a single minute of Nanalan.”
“Your words for it are merely different from mine – it’s the same thing,” Carlos said. “Call it… ‘Language Variation’, I guess. What you call ‘violent’ isn’t necessarily what I would call ‘violent’.”
The Perfect Scientist 