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12 parsecs?

Someone was feeding you bantha fodder.

It should be, considerin' it signified a true hero and a king, among many others.

[He waved a hand.]

I considered the handle o' the Sampo but one, I doubt it's worth as much without the rest o' it, two, it's the wrong country, and three, I have far too much sentimental value attached to it to use it as a bargainin' chip anyway.

So, hopefully the Fleece will do.

I'd rather take my chances with the plague. Least I got experience with that.

[[Azazel can't help but preen a little bit. He's a terrible and unrepentant bastard, but he's got an ego like you wouldn't believe. The angel has him at a disadvantage. He's never heard of this particular member of the Heavenly Host before, but he imagines they're all very much the same. God so did love his little army of feathery automatons.]

It's the "if it comes down to it" part that I, uh. Worry about. Somewhat. You wanna torture someone, sure, have a good time, but don't, y'know, go for it too soon? Still think someone's gonna be more cooperative if you just talk to 'em first. After that, then maybe. But. The concern here is I feel like you're "bust some kneecaps first, ask questions later." No offense, just an observation.

Good. [He pauses, before modifying his praise.] Well, slightly better.

[He picks up the cards which have the weapons printed on them and discards the gun, and then the other cards in turn as he describes them.]

As you so astutely deduce, the rope would also leave fibres behind enough to positively identify the murder weapon immediately. The dagger would leave a puncture wound no other weapon would; again, ruling it out. This leaves the candlestick, the lead pipe, and the spanner. All of these would cause death by blunt force trauma and, without an expert detective, the wound pattern may not be immediately determinable; ergo, one of these must be the weapon.

[He doesn't care that this isn't how he's meant to play, and that he hasn't even put a piece on the board, this is fun to him.]

We can probably rule out Mrs. White as a suspect at this point, the requisite strength required to bludgeon a man to death with a blunt object is not usually found in the upper body of a woman of that age.

You need to make them respect you, too.

When I was your age -oh boy here we go- I didn't take shit like that from anyone, much less myself. If you've got something you're proud of, you need to wear that. I'm not saying you go around bragging to people, because only jackasses do that, but being humble doesn't mean constantly comparing yourself to other people.

Punch the world in the face and do your own thing.

Chat nearly jumped out of his skin as the cavalry arrived.

He hadn't expected it. He'd spent so long working alone, relying on only himself and his skills and wits to get him out of trouble that proved to be too much to handle, that he had forgotten what it was like to work as a team. On some level that had probably contributed to the fuckup that had led to Marinette being thrown into the side of a building.

"Turns out I had her right where you needed her," he answered, securing Marinette in his arm.

Beware

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