Teaching Lyran (Badly)

The lingering scent of burnt sugar and Arke’s exasperated sigh hung in the air like a particularly stubborn cloud. We’d just narrowly escaped a public shaming at “The Daily Grind,” my favorite coffee shop, thanks to Arke’s attempt at ordering a “standard Earth beverage.” Apparently, in Lyran society, you don’t ask for things, you state your needs with regal authority. Who knew? Not me, and certainly not the bewildered barista whose latte art had been obliterated by a sudden, involuntary flick of Arke’s tail.

“Honestly, Sandy,” Arke huffed, smoothing his waistcoat with a paw that was a little too large for the delicate fabric, “the sheer inefficiency! Why all the pleasantries? ‘Can I have,’ ‘would you mind,’ ‘thank you so much’? It’s exhausting.”