At Winchester's house; East Garden, New London, Britannia:
Fiona: Stop your bloody blubbering. I'm not going to kill you. You might wish for it, mind, but you aren't quite that lucky, are you, lad? (to Winchester) Hello, lovely. Care to walk a lady through the streets? I'm sure the ruffians would appreciate the protection.
Winchester (to Fiona): Heh. Are you tormenting the locals again, firebug?
Fiona (to Winchester): Would I do a thing like that? No one asked you, is mac bhà dhair fhuileach thu! I'm just making a delivery.
Winchester (to Fiona): Calm down. Let me get my coat... Where and what are we delivering, McGillivray?
Fiona (to Winchester): Heh. Not you, Red. I was talking to this sneaky son of a southbound cow. He's the delivery. We're taking him to Firebrand.
Winchester (to Fiona): I beg your pardon. I didn't realize you had someone in the sack. Let's not dawdle then. I know how Margaux can be when she's kept waiting for too long.
Fiona (to Winchester): Ha ha! We'd best put the spurs to it, then. My friend here is already a bit blubbery.
Winchester (to Fiona): Let's take my automobile. It'll be faster.
Fiona (to Winchester): That rattling, sputtering waste of metal? If you say so.
Winchester (to Fiona): Oh, you don't want my help, is that it? I should just let you walk the rest of the way & return to my nice bottle of red wine.
Fiona (to Winchester): Ha ha! Awww. Did I hurt your feelings by insulting your mechanical beastie? Stop pouting & get moving. You're coming along.
Winchester (to Fiona): I knew it! You missed me. Admit it, you're hooked... Do you dream about me when we're apart?
Fiona (to Winchester): Yes. Every night before I slept. I was wearing a white wedding dress and I had flowers in my hair. If you don't want to get yourself sorted, there's naught I can do about it. See you later, Red.
Winchester (to Fiona): ... You are in a mood, firebug. I didn't say I wouldn't go with you. But you will have to do the heavy lifting. I'm too delicate.
Fiona (to Winchester): I'm in three moods and a quarter. This bloody heavy bugger has been a right royal pain in my arse. He didn't want to be found. Did you, lad?
Nathaniel (to Fiona & Winchester): You could have just fucking asked me to come with you, you know!
Winchester (to Nathaniel): ... Is that you, young Mister Jones? (to Fiona) Fiona, why do you have the young lad in the sack? I thought he was one of the "good guys", as it were?
Fiona (to Winchester): If he wants to be trusted like one of the good sort, then he needs to act like he can be trusted.
Nathaniel (to Fiona & Winchester): Oh for all the fuck's... I TOLD you! Ms. Dvorak ASKED me to skulk around that bar. And I coulda got the fuck outta this sack at any fucking time I wanted, you know!
Fiona (to Nathaniel): Ha ha ha! You kiss your pet aristocrat with that mouth, bonnie boy? Stop your thrashing, & I'll let you out.
Winchester (to Fiona): Fi, he's telling the truth. Mrs. Esterly & Ms. Dvorak asked Nathaniel to skulk about... (to Nathaniel) Best not to anger her. I once saw her punch a man so hard for sassing her that they woke up three weeks too late for his own wedding.
Nathaniel (to Winchester): I don't fucking doubt it. Why the fuck do you think I'm still in this goddamn fish-smelling shit-sack?
Winchester (to Nathaniel): Very colorful... Did you two go to the same charm school? (to Fiona) I think you can let him out of the sack.
Nathaniel (to Winchester & Fiona): Yeah. We're real fucking debutantes. WHY THE FUCK DOES THIS SACK SMELL LIKE HIGH FUCKING TIDE?!?
Fiona (to Nathaniel): This is a fishmonger's bag. Why else would it smell like that? Handy trick to keep folk away.
Winchester (to Fiona & Nathaniel): Come inside. I think we could all use a drink... and possibly a good scrub.
Nathaniel (to Winchester): ... Oh god. I fucking REEK. I there isn't enough fucking soap in this fucking empire to get rid of this goddamn smell. (to Fiona) What. The. FUCK? Why in all the holy hells of fucking Satan did you DO that?
Winchester (to Nathaniel): Heh. You've clearly never used my sainted mother's tar soap. It'll remove the smell easily... Just don't get it in your eyes… or your mouth... or any sensitive areas.
Nathaniel (to Winchester): Uhhh... Thanks, but no. I think I'd like to avoid getting tar... Well, fucking ANYWHERE on me right about now.
Fiona (to Nathaniel & Winchester): If you two are done clucking about the best way to pretty up, the Firebrand asked me to get the notes she's been having you make. And Wilkes asked me to send you home.
Nathaniel (to Fiona): And why the fuck did that involve shoving me in a bag that smells like a thousand dead fishes' assholes!?!
Fiona (to Nathaniel): You were in a bar practically crawling with CLANNG types, lad. What was I supposed to do? Walk up and say, "Excuse me, Mr. Jones, your boyfriend the junior Lord Wilkes asked me to have a word"?
Winchester (to Nathaniel & Fiona): She does have a point, Nathaniel.
Nathaniel (to Fiona & Winchester): Oh... I guess not. It still doesn't explain why it had to be that fucking sack!
Fiona (to Nathaniel): That sack is from my childhood! It was me only friend growing up in the docks of Aberdeen. It's not an easy life for a lass with no mother or father to speak of... I... I love Sacky.
Nathaniel (to Fiona): Oh. I... I'm sorry I didn't... wait. That's not true, is it?
Fiona (to Nathaniel): Of course not! It was because it was funny. Thought that'd be obvious. Ha ha ha! Stop your sputtering, and drink your wine, Nate.
Winchester (to Fiona & Nathaniel): Here, drink this, the both of you.
Nathaniel (to Winchester & Fiona): ... Alright. I am officially fucking done. I'm going home. Good fucking night.
