"Different - pardon me," the sentence almost visibly swerves around a pothole of bias. "It's only, to be an officer is held in high regard, or it was, in Rapture. Very respectable, very cultured, but I shouldn't make assumptions. Only it's hard to imagine that no one could be interested in you, Sir Molinaro."

The title slots in neatly, like she'd never called him anything else. Her vermouth sits, forgotten.