"The Lord of the Manor." A bony finger tapped the picture of Harold Waterman in the Laverstone Times as Hyddrach, deep in thought, picked the bits of flesh from between his teeth. "Toffs have blue blood, they say. I wonder what it tastes like."
"Just like any other mortal I shouldn't wonder." Merlot limped around the table to look over his master's shoulder. "It's just an expression for aristos. Besides, Waterman's a commoner. Used to run the tat shop on High Street. He's got no more blue blood in him than I have."
"Still... Lord of the Manor. That's got to be a better place than this shithole, no?"
Merlot looked around at their home. He'd put a lot of work into it over the years to make it comfortable. "I suppose so, my lord," he said.