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So ya don't like me plan? Big deal. See if I care.
spits
Yer all women in trousers anyways.
Now Eomer I don' like you as playin' so many games wit' me head. Wut is you? King's messenger? You dress the fop enough fer it.
scratches hisself then picks up a stick, pricks his thumb and starts making marks on his hand
I'm trackin' what all you say, so watch it. See?
raises hand for all to see scratches on palm made with own blood but nobody wants to get close to take a look because the stench is unbearable
All right, who's gonna help me carry these pieces of the by gone moddess goddess off to where she ain't such a wrong kind of sight? Don' all step forward at once.
By the by, it's way stinkin' too early to tell anything about anybody yet. 'Ceptin' Eomer's a fop, Morm's a loudmouth, guy's ana - um - ana - um - smart, Holby's tryin' to figger out which way is up, Firefoot looks clean as I'm filthy, and Oro's against random picking. I'm aginst it too. You know my plan. I won' keep harpin' it. Random's stoopid though.
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