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"<span class="mu-g">I'z sez me names naht Titchy, Buggpoop. Try again.</span>" You stand legs apart and tug the half-buggerfly knot holding your looped Carrionpede Rope closed around the body. It should be as threatening as resting your hand on a sord, to anyone with an eye.
Boog doesn't seem to notice, scrunches up his face, nodding thoughtfully.
"<span class="mu-g"><span class="mu-s">So yaz durnt fink yer Titchy. Hogay. Hogay. Name's only Bosser if yez ernt it orf uvvas, nart givvit yerself, but hogay. Whodz Boog know anyway... Since yer nart Titchy, loik yer sez, Oi'll be lumpen yer wiv da big Lads. Not a problem for a ballzy Bosser like yez, roit? Good talk, good talk, glad to agree.</span></span>"
>Toady will be scheduled against larger matchups
You try again.
"<span class="mu-g">Ere now, I'z jezt fort many many lots many = 3, lots = many many many; a counting system similar to that of Trollik numeracy of Terry Pratchett's Discworld uvyer Lads jezt yestiddy. Mm all fukkt up n injuud. Ow's it a proppa scrap if I'z copt it when summun fartz.</span>"
He nods vigorously, slapping his thigh, waggling a ringnutted finger at you.
<span class="mu-g"><span class="mu-s">Das roit. DAS. IZ. ROIT. Oi carnt send yez in all chewt up n half tornt before yez even startz. Whot will va fans fink? Izza difgrafe ta ve arrena! But dones done, Oiv got yez slotted in roit. Carnt disappoint va fanz, yez unnerstand. So's Oi'll tell ya wot Oi'll do: </span></span>"
He hurls himself to his feet energetically, stomps over to a pile of sacks and chests, rummages until he gets out a Medium Helff Pott.
Or sumn in a Medium Helff Pott: it doesn't have the usual corky stopper on, but a rag wad. And the sloshy stuff in it isn't clear red like the stuff you got from the Rheas or Plague Town, or the almost opaque scarlet you've seen some Big Hat Fighties carry. It's not even red, it's brown-green like post-use spinach.
"<span class="mu-g"><span class="mu-s">Ah! A lil sum frum me proivot stash. Helff Pott, good as. Beddah even, in some sense. Soid effects, darn worreh baht it. Bin chuggin it yearz, me, n *Oim* alroit, innar. Nar need ta fank me. Leest I cud du.</span></span>" He grins broadly, to hide the hardening squint in his eye. Yu can feel the heat coming off him when he presses his present into your hands. His body's hotting up.
Judging by how close your Droogz have creeped towards the entrance of the tent, you think you might safely make one more go.
"<span class="mu-g">I'z reely dint wanna say yet cuz itz mm-bare-assing, but I garda tell yez: I'z garda dizeez offa slutty I wuz pluppen. Me tonker's all oozy n gnarly narr, loika dedder's. Moit be in me bludd. Yez carnt let me bleed all over va Lads foitn me: if dey all catch it they dedd; if dey splort it on summun <span class="mu-i">they</span> dedd. Dedd loik flies inna hunnerdz, if it goes bad.</span>"
"<span class="mu-g"><span class="mu-s">Yerr. Yerr. Yer roit. Carnt be making ORCSHA violashuns for innertainmint. It'f un effikul. Deyll be foitn wiv longs, blunts, n 'tectivs. Nice spot, you. Gudd call.</span></span>"
>hevvy polebashers n Light KA
