“She can tell you the height of the attacker from the trigonometry of the blood spatter, while I'm fuzzy on what trigonometry is.”

“What's that?""That's my attack poodle.”

“Yes I can,” Curran snarled. “Listen: this is me telling you what you will not do.”I raised the cookbook and tapped him on the nose. Bad cat.”

“Curran roared. The blast of noise erupting from his mouth was like thunder. I clenched up, fighting the urge to step back. “Yes I can,” he snarled. “Listen: this is me telling you what you will not do.” I raised the cookbook and tapped him on the nose. Bad cat.”

“You know," she said, stirring her tea, "the fastest way to get him off your back is to sleep with him. And tell him you love him. Preferably while in bed."I smirked and the tea almost came out of my nose. "He'd run like he was on fire.”

“If she died as a result of this journey, it wouldn't be because of slavers. It would be because Richard's inability to communicate would give her a heart attack.”

“In that case, it's good that you're a human Cuisinart," she said."I'm sorry?""A Cuisinart. It's an appliance from the Broken. You put vegetables into it, push a button, and it chops them into tiny pieces."Richard frowned. "Why would you need an appliance to chop vegetables? Wouldn't it be easier to chop them with a knife?""It's meant to save time," she explained."Does it?""Well, cleaning it usually eats up most of the time you save on chopping.""So you're telling me that I'm useless.""It's a neat gadget!""And I'm hard to clean, apparently."She checked his face. Tiny sparks danced in his eyes. He was pulling her leg. Well. If that's how it is... "Considering last night's argument, I think that you're remarkably difficult to clean.""There probably is a retort to this that's not off-color," he said. "But I can't think of one.”