Oz lets his wrist hang at a straight angle from his arm, palm up. He huffs and turns his head to the side. "Excuses! Excuses. You play the stoic because you think it suits your manly temperament." He pronounces temperament with four syllables. "I remain unwooed."

He flips his wrist back to point at himself. "New, I suppose; I would ask what you mean by that, but you would only offer gloomy portent, a hem-hawing glower. And our rogue thinks: I am better than this conversation. This man is a fool. Is that right?"