[phew! glad there was no misunderstanding about legs there
]
"Hmm.. slaughterin flowers, eh? I don't know just what kind of namby-pamby sissy arse barb you think I am, but this here axe is for slaying demons, not for laying waste to 'fearful' daisies that be floatin about in the breeze."
<grabs the slippers and walks towards the backroom, noticing myself in the mirror, gasping as I catch sight of something stirring in my hair>
"Aah!"
<tears the unsightly monstrosity from my hair and swiftly tosses it to the floor, followin' it closely with the blade of my dagger. In a moment it is over, the small green creature has bled its life out onto the floor. Inchworm or not, the foul beast had seen its reign of terror brought to an expedient end.>
"So, uh.. " <gets up and sorts through the rest of my hair in the mirror>".. what gives you the idea that it was I who destroyed your.." <stops, and notices the letter on my chest>.
"Hmm.. 'Dearest Barb of very few manners and even weaker compusure, I will return when you awake to collect on charges owed for stock destroyed during your clumsy descent. ~Lilly'"
<eyes the stems poking out from the garbage pail, rips the note off and storms off to the backroom>
<loudly from the backroom> "You know, there are more suitable footwear than this for traversing this land. Being as its littered with rocks and overturned trees and nameless other hard and uneven surfaces, a good strong boot might be more suited to the task.." <some fumbling about with draws and tools is heard. Continues:> "..but I'm guessin you're the sort to enjoy a closer type of relationship with the land you walk upon, eh? From your appearance, I'd say that each step you take is careful and surefooted."
<looking the slippers over> "Still.. these here lesions and gashes seem to speak of some rough chaotic sprints where all caution was thrown to the wind. Perhaps you've found yourself caught up in troublesome situations quite often, m'lady? I'm betting by these burns and tears that you don't always get along with the elements of nature, or is it the other way around?"
<continues on with what he considers 'sole-searching', analyzing the footwear and vocalizing his thoughts as though someone's listening>
"And just how many years have you been wearing these things I wonder.. they seem to be crying 'mercy' to me! Aah, perhaps they have a bit of a magical spell upon them. Bah, fret not good woman, the soles of these here slippers will surely be saved."
"Oh, by the way, help yourself to more ale if you like, BOM 2000 will serve you as much as you care to drink." <this remark, unlike the long solo rapport ShoeHorn had with an absent audience, is heard well and clear, as evidenced by an outstretched hand reaching for some ale the seemingly out-of-place bartender robot is offering>