[ Styx is used to having someone around to rein in his big mouth, usually with violence both actual and threatened (or, in Arkail's case, an angry growl from the terrifyingly large orc is enough). What he ISN'T used to is shocked silence or kicked-puppy-eyes. Sorry, Mary, he's too caught up in his caustic, rambling tirade to even notice. ]

It's enough of a fucking miracle that we AREN'T broken bodies lying under all this shit, ain't it? And you're pissing it away by digging for stuff 'cause you gotta have it NOW? How much did those khwarsan- [ Styx corrects himself without a thought ] - those humans rub off on you? How the hell did you survive this long?