An observer observed two figures loitering outside the Mended Drum, Ankh Morpork's most reputably disreputable bar. They were very good at it. If there was a competition to find the best loiterer, they'd be standing around shadily at the top. They had the stance that suggested they couldn't possibly be involved in anything, at all, ever, and that you are very sorry for wasting their time and you'll just be on your way.
The observer would've said that there was something strange about them, the way that you couldn't focus on their faces properly. An observer could've sworn that he'd heard them speak.
"Speegle blop?" said one.
"Nergle." said the other.
"Speegle hort sorsergas?"
"Wan sat!"
"Inner boonnn"
"Naf."
Yes an observer definitely would've said that he'd heard them speak. This said observer was standing in a shady alleyway. This loiterer was a champion loiterer, whole leagues above the loiterers outside the Drum.
He said "Bugrit"
"I dunno. Never smelt anyfink like 'em. It's weird… somefing's not right about 'em." said another voice that seemed to come from a grey lump that he was holding by a piece of string.
"Millenium hand and shrimp, I told 'em!"
"Look what have I told you about arguin' with the nose? The nose is always right."
"Got some turnips Sir Lancelot!"
"I say we bugger 'em and piss off. I don't like this…"
"There goes the pink hippo!"
"Do you want to stay and find out? No. Let's make ourselves scarce"
"Bugrem"
The two shady shapes seemed to fade into the dark background. Meanwhile, the figures outside the Drum seemed to reach a decision and pushed open the door to the tavern.
