“No.” He yanks his tail from the stump and his tailblades tap the ground next to my foot to get my attention back on our work. “Hold this here.”
I scoot my fingers to the spot he indicated. “Wow, you’re fun. Let’s see… Okay, Random Topic Challenge accepted—”
Bash’s hands go still, his work progress flatlining as something occurs to him. “You’re not about to tell me how long it took for your people to realize that thermal processing on drinks intended for consumption would kill bacteria again, are you?”
I let go of where I’m holding the leather for him long enough to poke his arm. He twitches and looks down at the spot I touched him with an unreadable expression. When his eyes flick to mine and he’s still wearing an unreadable expression, I say, “You couldn’t sound more judgmental. And I told you! People probably knew that heating liquids was safer long before science proved it to us. But sometimes we need to know the explanation behind stuff before we fully understand why we should do a thing.”
Bash makes a noise at this but doesn’t pick on the human race further. He brushes my hand away from his work, folds the piece, grabs my hand, and presses my fingers down where he wants them. He picks up a buckle and starts forcing the tongue of the leather through the end of it. The leather, well-worked but new, is fighting this process. Bash shares, “The Gryfala use electrical field pulses to kill bacteria and spoilage enzymes.”
I gasp dramatically. “Don’t look now but you’re making conversation!”
He flicks his ears and sniffs.
“And neat factoid about the Gryfala. What about your people?”
“Ha.” He exhales the word, and fire falls out of his mouth, spraying the strip we’re both holding, darkening the leather from his side to just ahead of my fingertips. Eeep! Working with a Rakhii is kind of wild. “We prefer everything we put in our mouths to be hot.”
“Makes sense, and no wonder you think we’re slow for not knowing about heating. Okay, your turn to tell me something random.”
Bash returns his attention to the buckle. His chin dips, acknowledging that this is only fair—and his horns bob with his movement, making my eyes nervous. He’s got two sharp points at the ends of his horns, and I’m afraid if he moves wrong I’m going to get stabbed right in the blinkers. “Sometimes, I want to shake you humans until I hear your heads rattle.”
“Wow. When you make random conversation, you don’t screw around.”
“And sometimes it galls me to think that if I ever gave in to the urge, my own people would put me down. They would choose aliens over their own—and it infuriates me because they’d be right to do so. You’re small and fair and too lovely to shake until I’ve broken you.”
I train wide eyes on him. “You think we’re lovely?” That’s what I focus on? Really?
His gaze strikes mine and holds. “You are.” He pushes a metal tool in my hand. “Press down here. Don’t let up until I tell you to,” he warns.
“Got it, boss,” I say, regaining my equilibrium.
Bash almost makes a groaning noise. “‘Boss.’ You humans and this title.” He’s speaking directly to the leather, hunched over it as he works.
I’m watching the little wrinkles that form along the scales at the sides and bridge of his nose. It’s almost orange today, which means it's got a good coating of dust. His bathtub drain must have a serious debris trap on it. “What else do you want to be called? You can’t actually think we’re going to curtsy and call you ‘Quarry Master, sir.’ Besides, that’s not you. It sounds pretentious.” I shake my head. “The only time titles are worth using is when they’re cool. Like the planet I’m from, there’s a Marker of the Swans. Now that is a cool title.” I try to affect a British accent. “‘Ah, and here is our Royal Swan Marker! The Queen insists that you’re needed down by the lake.’ Sign me up for that. They also call them Swan Wardens—hey!” I reach up and tweak one of his horns. His tail wraps around my wrist, yanking my hand down to my leg. Getting a thrill out of the way it’s shackling me, I grin. “We could start calling you Warden. Now there’s a title that really fits you.”
Bash’s gaze returns to me. His eyes are narrowed, measuring.