Ah, the bear man.
Though I'd think by this point you'd understand how bad his accent is.
I flinched. Was this it? Was I to be beaten and sold to the Russians as a novelty buttock bicycle rack?
Well. That's a novel idea.
I stepped a couple of paces further away from him and pointed a sternly raised eyebrow at him. An eyebrow that spoke of ancient battles with his kind on muddy fields of blood.
Half mast? Three quarter mast? Full mast? (Never!!)
Straight up to full!! There is an ancient enmity between our kind!
No powder in the pouch? You didn't save any baccy?
Not a bit was spared, all out of powder!
Now how are you supposed to powder your face for the good lady?
You also need it for when you go on camera tomorrow.
I use various tinctures, all of which I prepare fresh which are certainly not to be confused with my fighting powder!