As if that potato is his mother (or one of the six dwarves Yngvi remembers calling a mother instead of an aunt, a subtle but crucial difference that'd be lost on some random scrubs meaning everyone that wasn't Carta in all honesty) he snatches it off Corvo and cradles it close. Humans. No respect. Always taking food out of a mouth but last time they at least had the decency to be putting it in their own mouths and not disrespecting the food itself.

He'll tell the Tal-Vachefs on this one. And that grumpy human one. Show him.

"And? They're doglords and Orlesians, no one that important'll care, believe me. You'd be doing the world a service getting rid of some of them. I know. But if you want a challenge, s'pose you could go for a halla. Them white deers roaming about? Shitting everywhere? I know a good recipe for them I'd smoke up over the fire if you could put a bolt through them. Hide fetches a good bit, same with the antlers."