COMMUNICATIONS BREAKDOWN
WOW: breath. Bobby is working with a hunter from London. This presents it's own unique set of problems ...
Disclaimer: I don't own these fine gentlemen
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"I'm telling ya, Bobby, ol' mukka; we gotta make sure this bloody troll's brown bread before it gets hold of that poor bird and her nippers."
"So, we should get in that basement tonight," the hunter continued without pausing for breath; "an' kick it's bleedin' slimy arris outside in time for the ol' currant bun to come up and toast it, then Bob's yer uncle; time for a nice cup o' rosie lee. What d'y fink?"
Bobby and the Winchesters stared in silence at their English counterpart.
"Can he speak in latin?" sighed Sam; "I could probably understand that."
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end
