[Carefully struggling to her feet when she takes a moment to get a good look at Kas, Araceli slides his dishes away from him just to be safe; cleaning food out of your hair isn't fun. Not when it's curry.]

Please don't marry anyone that smells like a bog.

[Araceli is armpit height. It's a mess. She does not enjoy his pelt deliveries. Sitting back down, she beams at The Outsider in a way that's absolutely alarming but ladies like duels, that's a universal truth.] I would arrange a very lavish funeral for you, Mal, with plenty of fine food.