“Relax,” Nikolai said. “I don’t kiss avocados. What am I, a middle aged white lady?”
“Can you be serious, please? I don’t want to fall.”
“Nothing is more serious than a woman’s love for avocados,” the demon hunter remarked.
Andrea sighed, trying to adjust her footing without falling backwards. “They
are good.”
“Correct.”
“You’ve tried them?”
The man glanced down at their legs. “What, do you think demon hunters just eat demon hearts
all the time? Awfully insensitive, Andrea. Ah, move your foot to the left. Your left.”
“I would imagine demon hearts look and taste something like avocados, actually.”
He gave her the tiniest of shrugs. It was likely so slight just to avoid sending her tumbling down the cliff face. “They look more like several moldy tomatoes stitched together, and taste like bad, sugar free cinnamon candy mixed with raw chicken and the tears of children.”
"Much like most of your jokes, it sounds like demon hearts are in bad taste.”