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You look so miserable at his pronouncements that he finally throws you a hint.
"Give her weapons to kill you with."
"<span class="mu-g">... ... if I gets gibbt by fings I gaves her, I wins? Izzat a fing?</span>"
"No, Fool above Fools! Your Bride desires gifts! Since she wants her Husband's life, what does the Husband give. Think! With your brains, not your bum!"
You scarper off before you really fetch it.
>gibb her gibs to gibb me wif
>huh
>she wants gudd gibs to gibb gudd
>waddif
>waddif I'z gib gibs dat gibb bad.
>dats a bad gib
>but what if it LUKK like it gibb gudd
>so dats a GUDD gib...
You turn it over and over and over in your sponge. There's sumn. Deffo sumn.
Since Seafood is sour with you right now, you'll show him your biggy bossy lewts later, when you're someplace secluded and he won't hit you with them. You want to see the Racist Dance people next, since they already know you succeeded and from what Seafood told you via <span class="mu-b">{SPEEKY CHATTY}</span> previously, they are bigly SUSSY of you.
"<span class="mu-g">Sweetfudds, Mm orf to see the Racist Dance. Needem to top me up sum Stuffs, seeing I'z used a heap jobbing for 'em.</span>"
Seafood doesn't look up from whatever he's doing. Copying and writing. Language: Rhean Rude, Dwarf Runa, and legally admissable Road Parle (Common)
"Mm. Go. Don't make deals without me."
"<span class="mu-g">Wotcher.</span>"
•••
You put on your Uncle Oats persona, shying and cringing from everyone. You haven't cleaned up since back at the Smugglers' Harbor; you look and smell authentic.
They don't let you in the safe house because you don't have the watchword, past or current. But then you identify yourself and show them a brace of crunched up Diggy hedds for proof, and they let you in.
The goons don't hide that they're impressed, only the Boss does. Rheas are remorseless gossips, and the Drood fuggen told <span class="mu-i">everwun</span>. There are definite results: the Myrmid Buggs are thrown all out of order, mass casualties which they are calling "unprovoked attacks against civilian noncombatants", refusing to explain what so many civ noncoms are doing so near the contested area; the Dorfs are moving in to secure the det site on the suspicion of Wherewithals of Mass Desolation, treating all encountered as involved or hostile; the Rhean Underground, half-anticipating your success, spring raids to vandalize and demoralize Myrmid strongholds to maximize momentum.
It's chaos.
They don't ask you how you did all this with just two boxes of HiMaX; ops on multiple fronts are pushing, they don't have time.
You tell them the two things you want: a resup, and an armsmith.
A good one.
Chai nods, gets one of his henches to take you.
You're headed for Middle Mart.
