Whatever 3

You're, dare we say it, known for it.

*prods Weft*

*tips hat* :3

Ok. That expression on a Fochs? More than a little scary right there.

*prods heap of monk again, receives hissed instruction to go away, shut up and die*

Quite. *eg*

This is precious. This whole thing is precious. So is this

I made that. I totally did. Mutt will tell you de helped, but it's a lie lie lieee.

Stamp on 'em, writers! I wanna hear some delicate psycholologgies snap. Bwa ha ha ha.

Suitov: *dryly* Basaltine. That isn't kind.

I think we should get roaring drunk and roast Weft on a spit.

I vote for wild dogs instead.

I wouldn't dream of poisoning animals that never did a thing to me.

And in case anyone wants to play smart: You don't have to eat what you roast.

Good, because nobody could get drunk enough to find that morsel appetising.

No?

Are you sayin' you could?

Unless Weft was wearing one of his outfits that include feathers, huh?

We like dog stew, though. Extra hot.

So you should! I am hot and tasty.

*checks he's alone* Waaugh. *looks frazzled*

What was that noise? Is someone being molested by feral chickens?

Chickens is about the only thing that hasn't gone wrong so far.

Which was not an invitation...

cluck

I'd kill you, but Sebastian would get annoyed.

*considers bursting into tears at it instead*