- Your damned insolence, peasant!
- Another word against Lady Micklemack-Zero-Gravity, slave!
- These outrageous accusations against the High House of Stabbington, you nameless wench!
- Such brazen impudence from a fatherless peon in the presence of the kinglet!
- Your impertinence in the face of these serious allegations from a member of the Endaggered Brethren!
- Backtalk from a slut-handed strumpet!
- This tin-coated effrontery from some ownerless robot bumpkin!
- The besmirchment of the name of Lord Blast-o-tron by some Outer-Rim boot-wearer!
- Your damned cheek, you bloodless backwater vulgarian!
- This treasonous talk of rebellion, you cur!
- This mutinous talk of revolution, you dog!
- This treacherous talk of uprising, you mongrel!
- This perfidious talk of heresy, you caitiff!
- Another minute of this nonsense! The Eden Terminus does not now, nor has it ever existed – it is a myth designed to distract soft-headed, conspiracy-minded loons like the Professor here!
- Further mention of the Forbidden Colony and its Forsaken Pioneers in Her Highness’ Presence!
- This outlandish talk of insurrection, you heartless churl!
- This outrageous slander against our beloved Prince-Abbot from a dog-livered philistine!
- Further talk of equality from an unpropertied star-girdler!
- Wild tales of gold and nonsense from an ignoble dirt-blood!
- Another word against Clan Fractal from you while a member of the Betrayal Squad is speaking, vassal!
- Such blasphemous speech against a Sister of the Most High Name from an untitled bondservant!
- A description of mine own responsibilities from you, peon – I will let the sun set on my children’s bloodless bodies before I take a lesson in civic battle garb from a man who cannot afford to appear before the court with a ceremonial Bloodcloak!
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Your very presence, you damned female!
The High House of Stabbington. Mallory, were you ever to actually write a high fantasy novel with all of these fantastic names (and absolutely no incestuous subtext), I would own the Collector’s Edition.
So, you’re saying nothing I have said or will ever say is tolerated in this high court? I wash my slut-hands of these proceedings and am taking my backtalk elsewhere.
The real trouble with slut-hands is that washing them, even with all great Neptune’s ocean, does absolutely no good.
All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little slut-hand.
This is a band-name goldmine. Star-Girdler for prog rock, Bloodcloak for throwback death metal, Clan Fractal for math rock, if that is still a thing that’s happening.
And I’m calling dibs on Nameless Wench, for my new punk-folk outfit that exclusively tours renfaires.
I’m dibsing Outer-Rim boot-wearer for my future all girl, all Star Wars costumes wearing band.
I quite like Star-Girdler’s first album, ‘The Eden Terminus’, but their later stuff, like ‘Sister of the Most High Name’ (1978) is just self-indulgent, pretentious crap.
That’s exactly why The Betrayal Squad’s classic pop-punk album ‘Backtalk’ (1977) was so needed.
I call Slut-Handed Strumpets. I’m not sure what kind of music we’re going to play yet.
But really, what *does* slut-handed even mean?
I’m thinking soft, yet firm. Red-tipped, with a tiny chip on just one fingernail. Ringless. Prone to gliding gently and suggestively over exposed flesh.
Is it the female equivalent of being a short fingered vulgarian?
“I would make an excellent reincarnated-DNA Abrasax heiress and you should consider me for the position.”
This thrice-damn’d effrontery on such a day of celebration, the Feast honoring the birth of our Most Noble Regent! Why, it is only in recognition of the sacred nature of this day that I do not relieve you at once of your wretched, impudent tongue.
I would like to pledge my allegiance to the High House of Stabbington, as long as I get to stab and not be stabbed.
Mine is A Mere Wife. Our first album cover features a woman's arm rising out of a lake [dad joke face]. She is holding a sword, the hilt of which forms a wedding ring, and simultaneously flipping the bird.
No, l haven't thought much about this.
“Kinglet” was probably meant here as a monarchial title, but it’s also an adorable tiny bird. Look it up and picture one of those sitting on a throne looking absolutely scandalized at someone’s brazen impudence.
My personal hope is that they were in fact referring to the bird.
Your churlishness and insubordination! No one can match you. We are really enjoying the fruits of an over-bearing fruit tree.