"What have you done, outsider?" she asked in an exaggerated Haitian accent that half the time sounded more like a fake Scottish accent. "Why have you ruined my ritual?" She said "oot-sider" and emphasized the third syllable of "ritual."
I didn't do a damn thing, of course, but she didn't need to know that. "My name is Bram Gold. I'm a Courser, and what you're doing here isn't approved by the Wardein of the Bronx. I'm afraid I'm going to have to confiscate the spell components and report this to Wardein Zerelli. You'll be hearing from her real soon now."
"You're not taking my t'ings!"
I shrugged. "You're welcome to try and stop me." I didn't really do menacing very well, but I've found that matter-of-fact-sounding threats were actually way more effective than ones that try to sound mean and nasty.
And I really hoped that was true today, because my bruised ribs did not want a fight.
Luckily, these were all just ordinary folks who didn't want any trouble. True, they were greedy pishers who wanted a god do to their bidding, but not enough to engage in violence over it.
Current Mood: pleased
Current Music: "Groom's Still Waiting at the Altar" by Bob Dylan