"Irritating?" he suggests. "Infuriating? Vicious nasty whining little bastards?" He salaams back, and then looks amused. "All right, but you, and I do mean you, also have to fix the damned eye and do the necessary obliviations, Rus. Let's stay low-fuss. Although," he produces a set of dice, one with four sides and one with nine, which had been a pair of peanuts two seconds ago, "I wouldn't be averse to fixing these bits of bent rust or having random numbers score double. For smoothness and spice, you understand."