*Bill shuffled his papers, glancing up at Molly like a nervous young student trying to appease the teacher.* "Oh, Molly, I assure you, the fence won't ask you to taste any of the toilet gold. He's a professional; he won't be giving you any poisoned orboff or pins. Just shut up and let me finish the rundown." *Molly snorted, adjusting her crimson wig.* "Aww, Bill, you shouldn't put yourself down just because you're the master of mum<SPECIAL_842>ging. Save the 'professional' lie for the kids when you tell them gatekeepers from Mordor just don't feel like you want to do some culinary experiments on 'penguin' crab this weekend." *Bill smiled.* "Aside from that?! Thanks to your keen wit, everyone now sees me as a proper scoundrel with no kitchen skills worth mentioning. Give the man some credit, he's bidding a fair box?" "That's dueling etiquette, Bill. It has its place, just not between you and your executioner." "Relax, would you? If the fence wanted to get rid of me, shooting me would be too simple for the thick-lipped fellow. He's more the sadistic type, giving you a box of Mom wouldn't approve of... he could never understand why anyone would want to share candy with a thieving slut anyway." "Twitterpated my ass! His kid is still getting that box of chocolate."