"Precision aids comprehension."
"Precision aids everything. Trust me, I edit for a living."
His expression shifts to something that might be pleased, and the bass undertone in his voice warms again.
"You enjoy editing?"
"I love editing. There's something satisfying about taking messy thoughts and making them clear. Finding the exact right word for what someone's trying to express."
"Like translation."
"Exactly like translation. Except instead of moving between languages, I'm moving between what people think they want to say and what they actually mean."
"An essential skill."
"Yeah, well, tell that to every client who thinks editing is just spell-check with attitude."
"I imagine your expertise extends far beyond spell-check."
"You'd be surprised how many people don't know the difference between editing and proofreading. Or between copyediting and developmental editing. Or—" I stop myself before launching into a full rant about editorial terminology. "Sorry. Professional pet peeve."
"Professional passion," he corrects. "There is a distinction."
"Most people don't see it that way."
"Most people lack appreciation for linguistic precision."
Coming from anyone else, that would sound pretentious. From Ursak, delivered in his careful, measured tone, it sounds like simple truth.
"Speaking of linguistic precision," I say, "what's with the Shakespeare? I mean, I get the academic value, but why tragedy at midnight?"
His ears twitch, and I swear his skin darkens slightly.
"The emotional intensity aids memorization. Heightened dramatic language requires greater vocal control."
"Uh-huh. And it has nothing to do with the fact that Hamlet is basically about someone who can't exist in a world that doesn't make sense to him?"
The silence that follows is telling.
"Perhaps there are... thematic resonances," he admits finally.
"Perhaps.Right." I grin and finish my coffee. "Well, for future reference,Much Ado About Nothinghas just as much linguistic complexity with significantly less existential despair."
"I shall consider the recommendation."
"Good. Because if I'm going to be your involuntary audience, I'd prefer comedy to tragedy."
"Noted."
I check my phone and realize it's nearly 1 AM. The night has disappeared while we talked, and I still have an article to finish before morning. But leaving feels wrong somehow, like walking out in the middle of a movie just when it's getting interesting.
"I should probably head back," I say without moving from the couch.
"Of course. Thank you for the coffee. And the conversation."
"Thank you for not being a complete asshole about the noise complaint."
"Thank you for not calling the police immediately."
