"Well," Paddy said glancing around the room, "If I had to take a gander, I should think to say that it was you."
"Assuming my reading was right, I mean. Back in the days of the - ehm, nevermind," he cleared his throat.
"Also! I'd imagine your job description entails... You know, dealing with fuzz like myself or," he looked over his shoulder where wisps of smoke still lingered from the zapped man, "Separating the cream from the crop. Ehm, I imagine that since you deal with the fuzz and the cream, that you might have the traits for... Diplomatic duties as well, but that might just be conjecture."
He pondered what he had seen at the Bretonian National Library on Leeds about the parties which inspired the Coalition prior to the war in Sol. Finally, somewhat unconvinced yet unable to do much else, he shrugged in conclusion.
"It might not also be beyond the realm of reason to suppose that you give out commendations as well?" he said, unsure as to whether two possibly incorrect pieces of information might soon find him a bloody mess. At least the first part hadn't eluded me.
