Quoted By:
You can almost hear the gears in your head nearly fly off their axles as the whole restaurant awaits your rebuttal! Damn that Ly and Mitzi, you think, why didn’t you bring someone who could speak up <span class="mu-i">for</span> you like Syb? Or <span class="mu-i">TALBOT?</span> At least it’d be funny to watch him get clobbered!
“Are you <span class="mu-s">DUMB</span> <span class="mu-i">AND</span> <span class="mu-s">DUMB?!</span> Y’know… the ‘<span class="mu-i">CAN’T SPEAK</span>’ kind!?” Squawks the Bearky as he pokes your forehead with a surprisingly-sharp claw, “What’s your problem, huh!? <span class="mu-s">GOB!</span>”
Your <span class="mu-i">problem</span>, you retort as a flame slowly grows in your chest, is <span class="mu-s">HIM–</span>he barged on in here like he owns the place, claimed to have some kind of douchey ‘<span class="mu-i">plan</span>’, and now he’s ruining everyone’s buzz! Downing the remainder of your mug in one hearty swig, you slam the tankard back onto the bar with a triumphant ‘<span class="mu-i">THUNK</span>’ and match Tory’s glare with one of your own–so hurry up and spill the damn beans already so everyone can get back to drinkin’!
“Arrrr…” mutters Two-Patch as a dull murmur begins to spread throughout the restaurant, “He be mighty articulate fer’ a pirate…”
“Aye…” Nods Nor’easter, “T’is a welcome respite from the usual dialogue’!”
Just when it looks like your head’s about to get the same treatment as the last guy who bothered him, Tory’s beak curls into a wicked smirk. Somehow.
“Well well! You’ve got giblets, don’t ya’? <span class="mu-s">GOB!</span>” Chuckling away your sass, the turkey terror exchanges a nod with his associates. “Right, then–let’s get straight to the main course! DARWIN?”
The croc skull skeleton steps forward before retrieving a <span class="mu-g">GIZMO</span> from… <span class="mu-i">somewhere</span> in his bones. Snatching it from his associate’s claw, Tory shows the device off to the rest of the bar with a grim look on his bony face!
“This, my crusty corsairs, is the key– the key to serving up that cretinous custodian on a silver platter! <span class="mu-s">GOB!</span>” Pressing a red button, Tory laughs maliciously as a series of lines appears on the doodad revealing a small, but easy to read screen!
“SQUAAAWK! What manner of trinket be this!?” Asks your parrot pal as he flits between you and Darwin’s heads!
“It looks li-err, it be a <span class="mu-i">MAP!</span>” Mitzi replies in a fake accent and real surprise!
“Correct!” Tory nods with a satisfied click of his beak! “And not just <span class="mu-i">any</span> map, my loose-bodiced beau–this device will lead me, my pack, and <span class="mu-i">anyone</span> else who’s got the wattle to follow us <span class="mu-i">STRAIGHT</span> to that fratricidal freak’s lair–<span class="mu-r">HER VAN!</span>”
The declaration hits you like a truck, or a <span class="mu-i">VAN</span>, in this case! Snatching Mitz’ mug out of her hand, you take a quick swing and perform the customary spit take–th-th-<span class="mu-r">THE VAN!?</span>
“Dat’s what he said, yea.” Ly confirms. Gee, <span class="mu-i">thanks</span>.
>CONTD.
