human
Small Man:  The small man, having drawn a boring guard duty, now grabbed a dagger in each hand and glared at Priscilla. His anger with her words was written on his ugly face, as was the fact that he wanted to take that anger out on her. However…
gpt
Small Man:  “If you’re hoping to threaten me, you’re much too late.”
human
Small Man:  “Yeah? Let’s see how long you can keep up that talk, ya little—”
gpt
Someone:  “Nah, I think she’ll be talkin’ like that until the day she dies.” Someone said, interrupting the howling little man.
human
Narrator:  He jumped back, ready to fight, but he was caught by a spear blow, a single strike that stabbed him through the face and took his life. He fell on the spot. At the exact same moment, the big man sank to the red carpet with an earsplitting clatter of armor. That was thanks to the man with the saber and the strange haircut—Gajeet, who had killed another sword slave. Accompanying him into the room was…
gpt
Priscilla:  “You do know how to keep a woman waiting.”
human
Balleroy:  “Aw, I hurried, y’know, I really did. But first, Miles needed to give me a good thrashing, then the high countess told me to bide my time…”
gpt
Priscilla:  “Enough excuses. You at least have my praise for arriving before the poison finished its work.”
human
Narrator:  That was the most appreciation Priscilla would offer the slump-shouldered Balleroy. Then she turned and looked at Gajeet. He was one of the drops of poison Priscilla had sown. Now he flicked his companions’ blood off his saber, giving a click of his tongue when he saw her looking at him. Presumably, it all showed that he had chosen to fight against his circumstances in order to take control of his own destiny. If Gajeet was on the move, it most likely meant that the sword slaves in the room with Jorah had made up their minds as well.
gpt
Priscilla:  “Although, there’s a possibility they’re all dead—along with my beloved husband.”
human
Balleroy:  “Aw, don’t say that, you’re scarin’ me. The high countess told me to protect Count Pendleton too, see.”
gpt
Priscilla:  “Then we had better get about it.” Priscilla said with consummate detachment. She stood up, straightening her dress as she rose. She had already tired of the transient amusements of this upheaval, and she had a fair idea of what its leader, Ubirk, was up to. All of which meant she couldn’t expect the situation to save her from boredom any longer. Thus, Priscilla Pendleton had but one thing to do—
human
Priscilla:  “For its final act, I must grace this boorish performance with the flower that is myself.”