"Leaving already? You've come all this way, so why not have something to eat before you go? We wouldn't want your people saying us outsiders don't know how to treat a guest—that a dignified Creator came to our feast and had to leave on an empty stomach. Besides, it took me quite a bit of time and effort to prepare all this."
A voice tinged with reproach came from across the table. Murphy, who had been getting up to leave, pursed his lips, picked up a fragrant napkin from beside him, and tossed it over.
"I've done what I came to do. Should I really hang around in the hope the Creator will take revenge on me?
Wipe off the blood, Your Greatness, Data Deletion. Stop standing there amid the broken glass and playing the poor victim. Doesn't the mess you left behind deserve at least one bottle to the head? Considering I've decided to take that mess off your hands, the least you can do is cut me some slack, right?"
"Well said! Well said!"
"Exactly! The big guy really did deserve that smack!"
"But wouldn't hitting him over the head with a bottle be a little too much? He is a Creator, after all."
"What are you afraid of? The doctor's right there. He hasn't even reached for a bandage, so Murphy's hit must not have hurt at all! He should do it again!"
"A bottle's no fun. If you ask me, nothing beats a Concept Disintegration Cannon. Murphy, I happen to have one right here that can hurt the big guy. Look, whoops, I dropped it on the floor. I wonder if some kind soul might—"
"Enough! You bunch of bastards! Get out of here!"
The fellow on the other side of the huge dining table snorted.