"You what?" Allow him a couple of moments for his small brain to gallop up to wherever his mouth is at. It's a journey. A long one. On a really short fat pony with wee stubby fat pony legs. Almost-- almost-- There we are. "Are you accusing me of being a thief? Do I look like a duster?"
Why yes, Yngvi does manage to sound outraged, as if he's some sort of person of good character which speaks well to all the older folk in the Carta that raised him honestly because this is the person that managed to message the whole of the Inquisition instead of just Gwenaelle when he was clattering around her father's estate, knicking the best brandy and the silverware, and trying on her dresses.
(As you do.)
"This," he continues after the correct amount of pause to gather his fractured and wounded dignity, you, good sir if you can even be called a good sir and with whatever that is on your face - perhaps a lost stoat, maybe a weasel? - ought to be ashamed to call him out thus, "is an inspection, obviously."
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Why yes, Yngvi does manage to sound outraged, as if he's some sort of person of good character which speaks well to all the older folk in the Carta that raised him honestly because this is the person that managed to message the whole of the Inquisition instead of just Gwenaelle when he was clattering around her father's estate, knicking the best brandy and the silverware, and trying on her dresses.
(As you do.)
"This," he continues after the correct amount of pause to gather his fractured and wounded dignity, you, good sir if you can even be called a good sir and with whatever that is on your face - perhaps a lost stoat, maybe a weasel? - ought to be ashamed to call him out thus, "is an inspection, obviously."