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Baron's upset he had to cover his whole self in a muddy pit of coal ash slurry, to fetch his cybie friend's missile launcher attachment. "All this 'cause you act like a dumbass near industrial blades!" he shouts, stomping a leg forward in indignation.

 

The cybie stares befuddled, almost scornful at what in comparison amounted to an imp grousing about boredom or toil. "It's not my fault this place has got no OSHA compliance!" he moans. "Why don't you go find someone else to pick a bone with? Like the tar pit?"

 

Upon hearing such brazen dismissal, the satyr stomps forward again and jolts in fiery contempt. "It's flue ash! I'm gonna get cancer or something, all because of you! You can fix your arm, get a prosthetic, I dunno. What about me? Not like you'd ever care about a measly ox-foot like me!"

 

All the while the cybie had already took the device from the satyr's hand, and had begun to walk away, dismissing his friend's bouts, keeping a walking pace slightly faster, and of longer steps, until he was far enough to close a door between the two and sigh in relief. "My ears buzz. Man, what a cunt."

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