Binder Fred
3 rings to bind them all!
"Try it naw." He goes to add something, hesitates - bits of that thrumming/uncertain feeling back in his chest - reluctantly folds his arms back in and, with the defiant air of a man who would rather not, adds: "Please."She looks to Sloor and is somehow comforted and a little surprised at the caring side of the besalisk. "Yes... and no. You do not want to come to rely on 'it', but use when the need is there. Otherwise 'others' take notice."
(And won't they all be imperially frekked if it goes off on the wrong side of things? Just what the frek does he think he's doing?) He hesitates again as Mir turns towards the black coffins <I assume/correct me>... "Are they suffering?" Probably not, or she would be a lot more certain about her course of action, but let's at least establish that first (and beforehand, right?).
<Response Mir?>
Sloor, in the process of downing a swallow, coughs, spilling clear drink over himself: "Really?" He wipes his chin with one of his many forearms. "I rather *like them*. RX's a frecsing jerk, sure - ain't the first time he's gawne heavy an the friendly fire, way I hear it (gawd call an that awne, Sra) - but the Kargs are a frecsing nice bunch awf spirks!" He suddenly chuckles, "Did you see the way Darg hit me clean acrawss half the marbling arena? Naw *that's* a fighter! Prawd awf their wawrk too, the bunch awf them -- and their stawggies ain't half bad either..." He's grinning wide now, daring Mack to contradict."But as for the overall plan to get a patsy, I got nothing so far. But, I know who I would try to blame; those frakheads we tangled with in the arena."
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