Leftover Soup!
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It's true - if you don't speak Greek, anything you say just sounds like "bar-bar-bar".

Also, presumably, if your name is Barbara.

(Saturday afternoon, INT: EB and JH's apartment, living room)

LH: Irinak gazes down from the balcony. His face looks like a skull with jerky shrink-wrapped over it. His eyes are a pair of purple pinpoint lights deep in their empty sockets.
LH: "Ah, so you are the barbarians that have been giving me so much-
NP: Hang on. What's our stance on the word "barbarian"? Is that a slur?
GU: Well, we don't speak ancient Greek, so it is technically accurate.
MH: I'd say it's like "redneck" or "queer". We can say it to describe ourselves, but if anyone else uses it, it's an insult.
EB: Sweet, I'm offended. Shooting this classist fuckjar with the rope arrow that has the salve on it.
LH: Wait, don't you want to hear what he has to say?
EB: Why would we bother letting him monologue? None of us have Bluff, Diplomacy, or Int or Charisma over an eight. I'm just shooting him in his beef jerky face immediately. Twenty-six.
LH: Well, this bit is actually magically pre-scripted, so he's going to keep talking as his dessicated face meat closes up around the arrow...
EB: And keep talking as I yank him face-first off the balcony to the acid-pooled ground thirty feet below?
LH: ...Yes.

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