Me: I want your Potion of Darkest Power. Fitzgerald: Yes, master. Me: So get it. Fitzgerald: It's in the chest, master. Me: So unlock it. Fitzgerald: I don't have the key, master. Me: Yes, I know you don't have the key, I've already tried to pickpocket you for it. It's your damn chest, why do you not have a key to it? Fitzgerald: Game design, master. Me: ...alright. I'll try to pick the lock. Fitzgerald: Let me handle that, master. Me: Try it with this autopick. Fitzgerald: I said I'm handling it, master. Me: But you've-- Fitzgerald: I'm a Master at lockpicking, master. Me: You're a Master at lockpicking and you've already failed three times to crack your own damn chest! Fitzgerald: Yes, master. Me: Oh, forfucksake...you've had your chance. I want you to open it with your bare hands. Fitzgerald: Yes, master. (guard outside window): Oi! Wot's that thumpin' in there? Me: Hey, little piggy, smooth out the rumples on that...hideous diminuative thing you're wearing. Here comes the gendarme. Fitzgerald: Yes, master. Tarant guard: Wot goes on here, then aye? Me: Well, I wouldn't stand between this man and his Potion of Darkest Power, sir. Just ask my Demon mate here about how dangerous that would be. Tarant guard (quivers and swallows): Well arright then, chaps, but just keep it down for the neighbors! Good evnin! Me: psst, no one told you to stop. Continue, if you please. Fitzgerald (pounding until his fists are bloody with splinters): Done, master. Me: You know, I don't think you'll be able to forgive me anymore than I can forgive you. So we're going to take a walk in the woods, and you won't be coming back.