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You say nuffin, letting the clatter of your Quality Armor announce you.
As you pass, you grab whatever good eats you see out of their hands n cram it or swigg it.
>nyarmarmarmarm
>urrp
>glepglepglepglepAHH
No chance of poison at least in the first several minutes of shock. You pack two full dinners in your belly, veggy numgies, stacked ribbz, Anna whole cauldron of stoo to-go. Shame you have to share sum with Gui Li, but waddahell.
You head for the BeerBoss' stall again, knowing he's one of the feevz. You know Dragg Lord's probably got more rank, but eing completely predictable and obvious is a flex and a trap.
The beer stall's still here, still up. Different Rhea minding the till, younger, maybe dumber than the BeerBoss, but taller and stouter, by Rhea standards; almost a malnourished Dorf size. Two other yobs with the same look lurk nearby, their hands under the table or behind their backs, watching without looking. They ain't your match if it comes to killykilly; probs they're just stalling for their Roogz n Droodz to get in position. You're not pressured: even theys Roogz n Droodz will need some time to find their ballz, and when they <span class="mu-i">do</span> try yer they'll either gitt gibbt, or be too busy keeping their frenz n famblys from bleeding out to catch YOU.
"<span class="mu-g">Wotcher, free-fourfs. You know me. Wanna talk tuva BeerBoss. Whurreeat.</span>"
"Tunner Aldan's off sick. So convenient, lal On account of you, baddie. Give me a reason why I shouldn't box you."
"<span class="mu-g">Cuz dat will leave yez one less hand to wank wiv, dumdum. Same goes for everwun hearen this n hidy theys hands. Meanen <span class="mu-r">yez, yez, yez, yez.</span> </span>"
Nobody moves or breathes, all acting like they're not the one. You growl and slowly reach for the biggy spearhead across your back. Sicky's already out and lurken under yez raggy cloak. Before your hand reaches the prop sord, their hands appear: flat on the table, at their sides or laps, palms out. Some you hadn't pegged have their hands raised halfway up, clearly cucked.
The yob standing in for BeerBoss has lost some color.
"<span class="mu-g">Va BeerBoss ran a scam on me day fore last. Vat's ten Zilverz n eyyteen Grainz. Now I'z here to run one too. Yer va BeerBoss, today, lukky yew. Dat means I run <span class="mu-i">yew</span>.</span> "
He's half expecting sumn, but you're still faster: Sicky swings from below, outward, then in, hooking his neck from behind. He hastily leans forward over the bar as you pull Sicky in.
"<span class="mu-g"> Givvus all yez Zilvaz.</span>"
"Goodsir Traveller! We haven't got any!"
"<span class="mu-g"> Yez took plenty frum me. Plenty more from uvvaz. Wherez it oll.</span>"
"Gone donated and spent sir! For a just cause!"
"<span class="mu-g">Den I might jezt guttz yez fer yer bludd, juzt 'cuz.</span>"
"Is there anything else wanting! W-we'll accommodate!"
You're about to say "yer mam n yer ziz", but you reconsider. You can just grab puzzy. You need fings <span class="mu-i">made</span>.
"<span class="mu-g">Want threddz, blangz n drippz. Gotteny."</span>
