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The problem with Eypharians, as far as Clem was concerned, started with Arumenic. The language was built, at its fullest, to showcase the superiority of their race. For what he could figure, after being in Ahnatep for so long, was that the only things Eypharians really excelled at beyond humans were possibly in the realms of pleasuring oneself and coming off like pompous cows. And while being a far cry from fluent in High Arumenic, he had this strange feeling that the majority of their undermodes were in fact those belonging to said cows. He had a theory that walking into Talboa and proclaiming oneself to be a vegetarian would garner a more desirable response than being a human and trying to get away with speaking High Arumenic.
So really in the end the problem with Eypharians was that they were a dirty necessity for his line of work he’d found himself in. Only because they were the ones with the mizas. Otherwise he would have been more than happy to just work with slaves and occasionally get pleasure out of arranging for some six-armed shyke to get eaten.
Of course, he didn’t say any of that out loud. Those were the sorts of opinions you kept to yourself in Ahnatep. Instead he stood up, hard blue eyes watching those around the Pillars go about their business.
“Yes,” he said coolly as he pushed up from his crouch in one graceful motion, tearing himself from his philosophic moment that he wasn’t getting paid to have. His arms crossed over his chest. He waited.
No one ever came to see him about needing a
hug.