Starglow Basin Asesino

He has never seen Lanza once make an unnecessary movement. His economy makes Moises and his tics look like a debaucher.

Solo los hu-hu-huesos. His face seizes with the effort. Another irony: it is only the softest sounds, the most formless syllables he struggles with. The fricatives, the plosives---he can manage these with just as much grace as anyone else. Something about the embouchure of huella, huerta, humillo makes it impossible to get them right without great concentration. They fill his mouth, great bolls of cotton.

Le agradas, Lanza. El jefe, digo.