“Bollocks....facking big fat bollocks, ver is naffin’ mach I ‘ate more van stupid fackin’ girls vat scream because ve blaady know sam poor sap will rescue cause vey ‘ave pert little titties.” Storm sighed then and scratched at the scar on the back of her head.  “Actually vere are fack load of fings I ‘ate but today its vat.” This was more said to herself than to the bar.<br/><br/>However after downing her pint the woman snorted coughed then spat, “Oh sweetcheeks.” Storm called after the half Orc, “That bastard drink better be a sure fing because if not I’ll cat off that ‘andsome ‘head and spit dawn yer froat.” The way she said it one could not be sure if she was joking.<br/><br/>Storm could still hear the screaming, and it was beginning to grate on her yet more and quite frankly had an idea... she nudged Lursk. “Wanna ‘ave a wager on ve blaady screamer on wevver she makes it to ve bar or dies. Now vat would be worf me leavin’ me drink.”<br/>