Strong and mysterious, he was an intriguing man. Capable and hard, but yet there was something thoughtful and gentle about him. In a way, he almost seemed sad.
Still, right now she wished he hadn't been so honest.
- But how.. how can you do that, she asked at length. How can you kill for a living?
If he was offended, he hid it well, like he seemed to do all emotions.
- Many people do, he said. Consider fishermen. Fishermen are the worst - when you think about it, fishermen kill by the thousand, every day. And we're not talking clean kills or surgical precision. Fishermen are sloppy killers. They're so out of their element they wreak havoc on and spell doom for anything unfortunate enough to be around their intended targets.
- But that's.. that's not...
- I wouldn't do that. And then there are hunters - and farmers. Imagine that, even a stout, jolly farmer has to deliver on a few contracts a year to get by.
He took his first sip of tea.
- And rest assured, the fish and the cattle are all more innocent and undeserving than any of my clients could ever hope to be. And yet they aren't gasping for air, or led to the slaughter. They die before they notice.

His eyes met hers, and suddenly the series of "but-that's-not-the-same-thing"-arguments she had lined up did not ring as true to her as they had promised.