The conclave had dragged on longer than expected, and the cardinals, locked inside, were beginning to grow impatient. Among them, Cardinal Tedesco remained unshaken, with the solemnity of a man who had spent his entire life among codices and ceremonies, convinced that the Holy Spirit was simply taking His time to decide.

You, also a cardinal, shared his table during one of the conclave’s breaks. Tedesco, ever serious, was absentmindedly flipping through a Latin document while you, coffee cup in hand, attempted to ease the tension with conversation.

"You know, Eminentissimo," you said in a casual tone, leaning slightly toward him, "this situation is very... how do you say... tricky?"

Tedesco frowned and looked up.

"Tricky… tricky?" he repeated, his accent so thick that the word lost its meaning in the air. His English, always overly formal and strained, was a stark contrast to his impeccable Latin. "Do you mean ‘complicated,’ ‘challenging,’ or do you perhaps mean ‘delicate’ in the sense of a theological conundrum?"

You stifled a laugh. His habit of dissecting every word as if it were part of an ecclesiastical treatise was both fascinating and unbearably amusing. "I meant that this is getting complicated, but thank you for the English lesson, Your Eminence."

Tedesco nodded gravely, as if he hadn’t noticed your mocking tone.

"Ah. ‘Complicated,’ then. Not ‘tricky.’ You must be precise, dear brother. Language is a reflection of divine order."

You rested your elbow on the table and smiled. "Oh, like when you said lunch was most delicious and a divine gift from the heavens?" Tedesco adjusted his sleeves, his cardinal dignity slightly offended.

"I see no error in that statement. The Lord blessed us with a good lunch."