Quoted By:
"Tudi."
"Yaz Sweetfuds." You both speak in the same uninflected monotone these days. Questions are ultimately unnecessary.
He waves a little finger over the various killykilly instruments you've prepared and are in the process of sharpening. Mostly the sickle and shoddy axe, plus a couple couple shivs just in case.
"Your killing intent has improved. Do you intend to see blood tonight."
"Yaz Sweetfuds. Finna kill der Sordyfagg Sissy wot lives inna cherch."
"Oh? Mo Ao."
<span class="mu-i">Lord.</span>
"Would you like to help kill a "Scaromate" Disciple tonight."
... ...
<span class="mu-i">I will as my Lord wills.</span>
"Waste-talk; indeed you do. Need you even say it. But I asked if you wanted."
... ...
<span class="mu-i">No.</span>
"Then the more you must. Tudi, take this brainless fen2pu3 (坟仆, grave servant) with you. No arms no legs, but it can take a few blows on its forehead. Mo Ao, heed him."
<span class="mu-i">Yes Lord.</span>
You've been meaning to ask to bring Moar Ow along too, just waiting for the right opening to bother Seafood. He just hasn't opened his eyes till now, just counted on his fingers with his eyes closed, mutter jibberjabber, n played with ... <span class="mu-i">fingys</span>.
"Yaz Sweetfuds. Fanks Sweetfuds."
"Heed, Tudi: don't let that Righteous Adherent reach his weapons, or the altar of his temple. Once he does, keep Mo Ao back and settle him yourself. Understand."
"Yaz Sweetfuds. Mma do."
°°°
You go a teeny bit early, while there's still sun, leading Moar Ow through the emptied skirts and the alleys between the houses you cleared on Main. It's not really a shortcut, since there's lots of bends and fences and things, but it's plenty cover for a tall biggy bedsheet to get around, and you know there's no one in those places to feel the heebeejeebees it gives off.
On the way, you think on Seafood's advice. You'd have tried to gibb the Sordyfagg while he was bent over on the ground in the Chantry, but maybe that wasn't such a good idea after all, since Moar Ow is with you. You did such a good job onnim he's still regenerating; if he takes some Whitey magic inna face and gets re-dedded Seafood will lose his turnip.
You reach the Cherch in good time, as planned: the workchumps have gone off, and Sordy Sissy will be out of his room for dindins soon.
He comes earlier than expected. He's not cooking: he gets nikked and gets a washboard out, starts scrubbing his soaked clothes inna tin tub. Laundry day.
You post Moar Ow in the far shadows, behind a blindspot.
"<span class="mu-g">roit. yous stay ere, count to two hunnerd once I'm gone <span class="mu-i">dis</span> way. Den you go down dere, turn in lefty <span class="mu-i">dat</span> way. he's nakey n scrubben 'iz tuckeroos. Yez carnt smakkem yet, so jezt swoop onnem. Likes a ghost, see. scare him innada kitchin, to the door outavit. go slow. tell yez moar lader.</span>
... ...
Moar Ow takes up its position, slouching more. You're not sure if it heard you.
"<span class="mu-g">woi. yez deaf. hear what I sez."
<span class="mu-i">Yes.
Two hundred counts after you.
Scare him into the scullery, then out of it.
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