"Oh, that makes sense. Now I'm imagining some poor terraformer crying over the difficulty presented by all these blasted beetles."

"There are really too many! I don't know a whole lot about terraforming but I imagine they must skimp on the plants, too."

"I don't think anyone's going to cry over leaving behind poison ivy."

"I've never even heard of that, and based on the name I imagine you are right."

"It produces chemicals that itch for weeks if you touch them. There's an urban legend about a guy who--never mind, it's not delicate."

"Is there a sign? Please do not be indelicate in this bar?" asks Ivan, looking around.

"No, but in my experience men don't like stories involving nasty chemicals and a man's sensitive bits."

"This is true," Ivan admits, "but not for reasons of delicacy."

"I feel like there's an innuendo there about the delicacy of the relevant area but the specifics are escaping me."

Ivan thinks for a moment. "I can't come up with anything," he sighs.

"Tragic. Such a perfect opening, and neither of us enough of a cunning linguist to take advantage."

...sporfle. "That - only sort of works, I think the bar is translating, but it comes close enough. So to speak."

"I hope there's no one who's going to take offense at you hearing such things from strange girls."

"I am currently quite lacking in anyone who might fear attempts on my virtue, myself included."

"Ooh."

"And how about yours, do you have virtue-guarding dragons and a moat or anything?"

"Nothing of the sort. I'm unattached at the moment, and anyone else who thinks it's their business shall find themselves entirely disregarded."

"How much?" Emily asks, fishing for her purse (with her hands).

"No kidding." She fishes out the right bills and puts them on the bar.

They are replaced with a key.

"Shall we?"

"We shall!" He scoops up the key, reads the room number Bar supplies, locates the stairs, and offers Emily his arm.

She takes it, beaming at him.