Thiollier: Lord Mohg is just as you talked about.
Sir Ansbach: I would not lead you astray, there is no need for it.
Varre: I beg to differ.
Sir Ansbach and Varre exchanged glares. Thiollier continued: I've seen Hornset, but he's more... oh, I feel odd saying it. Is it rude to compliment such things?
Varre: Lord Mohg loves his looks and thrives on wholehearted attention, lambkin.
Sir Ansbach: He is... right. It's not common for him to receive compliments, but he appreciates them when he does.
Thiollier, cheery: Then I will say something.
Varre as Thiollier leaves their group: Break a leg.
Thiollier to himself thinking on what to say: Your rack of horns or - no - your eye glows with - no that could be insensitive. My, he has a wide chest-
Mohg and Radahn were moving some supplies as they took proper inventory.
Mohg noticed him watching and turned to properly face him as he approached: Thioller, what can I do for you lad?
Thiollier's mind was surprisingly at ease, he had a list of things to compliment Mohg with, he just needs to say it.
Thiollier: Nice tits -
He fucked up. The wheel in his head spun and landed on the line of "Don't say tits," and "Say, you have a nice rack." Mohg's eye watching him, wide and in a bit of shock.
Varre had spun around from what he was doing. A sharp panic hit him. Ansbach held fast, curious on how his timid friend would recover, but ready to intervein if needed.
From the corner of Thioller's eye, he saw Radahn watching him, too. Oh, the whole fort is holding its breath.
Mohg's eye flashed, breaking contact with Throiller, and a hearty laugh erupted from him that made Mohg quake and wheeze.
Thioller: Just kill me.