Owain: Halt! Who goes there?!
Brady: Halt? You're the one who just walked in. I ain't goin' nowheres.
Owain: A fine parry, sirrah. And yet, here you stand in garb most strange. Speak, fiend! What nefarious plot are you hatching here?!
Brady: What, ya mean here in the kitchen? Dressed like a chef?
Owain: A surcoat and crown of purest white... What strange rituals are—
Brady: It's an apron and a chef's hat, idiot! I'm cookin' dinner! Even you can't be that dense. Now quit wasting my time.
Owain: Cooking? You? Dinner? Ha! I'd sooner believe a cavalier riding a pegasus over the moon!
Brady: Aw, I ain't got time for this malarkey! Look, tonight's my turn, all right? Now make like some eggs and beat it! You're gonna ruin the flavor.
Owain: I will not be deceived by such deceits! What manner of madman would allow you a turn at cooking for the camp?
Brady: I'm a fine cook, all right! I learned from my dear ol' ma! So just... *sniff* G-Get off my back!
Owain: Whoa...um, are you crying?
Brady: N-No! *sniff* ...And you're slipping out of character.
Owain: Brady, you are totally crying!
Brady: L-Leave me alone! I was just cuttin' up taters, all right?!
Owain: Don't you mean onions? I don't think there's anything in potatoes that—
Brady: I JUST FELT BAD FOR 'EM, OKAY?! Now make like my pants and split!
Owain: Fine, fine. I'm going.

Owain: Alas, Brady! We meet again! ...Um, Brady?
Brady: What idiot left this helmet here?! Welp, too bad for them, 'cause I'm gonna punt it from here to kingdo—OOOOW! Fffffffffffffffft!
Owain: Do you hiss at me, sir? And what was that sound of a moment ago?! It was as the splintering of a mighty shield! The felling of a towering tree!
Brady: Hnnnnnnngh...
Owain: Oh ho! I see you hunched and shivering! Do you tremble in my presence, sir?!
Brady: N-no, you...idiot... Just...go away...
Owain: Why do you reach for your foot? Grasping for a hidden dagger, perhaps? What are you doing, fiend?! I'll not be taken unawares! Give it here!
Brady: No no no no no—OOOOOOW! DON'T TOUCH THAT!
Owain: Okay, really. What's wrong?
Brady: You're...falling out of...character again... *sniff*
Owain: Wait, are you crying again?
Brady: *Sniff* N-No, of course not. You got rocks in your brain! I...I think I just broke my toe... *sniff* *sniffle* ALL RIGHT, I'M CRYIN'! I'M SENTIMENTAL, OKAY?!
Owain: Y'know, I don't think tears of pain count as being sentimental, Brady...
Brady: Just...go away...
Owain: All right, hold on. I'll go find you a healer.

Owain: Ho, Brady of the Moistened Eyes, what business have you here?!
Brady: *Sob* Sh-Shut up! L-Leave me... *Sniff* Just leamme alooone!
Owain: Man, are you crying already?! This is a new record.
Brady: I'm... *sob* I AIN'T CRYIN'! *sniff* *sniffle*
Owain: Actually no. You appear to be bawling. What happened this time, old friend?
Brady: Whaddya mean "this time"?! Ya make it sound like it's an everyday thing!
Owain: At this point, it kind of is... And why are you here, anyway? Weren't you joining the others on their training run?
Brady: I did! I just couldn't keep up after the first ten minutes, all right?! Wanna make somethin' of it?! You and me gonna go round n' round?!
Owain: Ah, I see! That explains why you're such a sweaty mess. ...It doesn't explain the tears, though.
Brady: I told ya! I'm sentimental!
Owain: You're sentimental about being out of shape?!
Brady: Yes, all right?! Now mind yer beeswax and leave me alone!
Owain: Um, Brady? Do you even know what "sentimental" means?
Brady: 'Course I do! Whaddya think I am, some kinda limp noodle?
Owain: Yes, well, you see, it's just that... You keep using it wrong. Sentimentality is when someone gets emotional over memories or moving events.
Brady: So like... If I saw a litter of newborn kittens and couldn't stop cryin' for hours?
Owain: Exactly! That's being sentimental! ...And a little weird, if we're being completely hon—
Brady: I... *choke* Hnngh!
Owain: Mordecai's claws! Are you still out of breath from running? If you feel like you're going to be sick, just turn your head and—
Brady: *Sob* I'm fine! I just... When I pictured those tiny kitties lyin' there all blind and mewling... *hic*
Owain: Right... So basically you are sentimental. But you're also a huge crybaby, too.
Brady: D-Don't tell the others about this! If you do, I'll take yer lunch money!
Owain: Heh, you put up a tough front, but you're just a huge softy inside. I don't think Brady of the Moistened Eyes is ready to join the Justice Cabal. ...But still, I'm glad we're friends.
Brady: ...That mean you won't tell no one?
Owain: Heh. If it's that important to you, your secret's safe with me. Call me sentimental!

Owain: Ahh, Brady. Perfect timing. Come here a minute.
Brady: Meh? What do you want?
Owain: What's a festival without music, am I right?
Brady: Uh, I guess? So what of it?
Owain: Then what are you waiting for, Brady? Or should I say... Grand Fiddlemeister Brady, beloved of the earth below!
Brady: Haw?!
Owain: Come! Now is the time to unveil your hidden powers of song! Make the sacred dragonsbeard sing! Play us a chorus of eternal prosperity!
Brady: Eternal what, now? What are you even talking about?
Owain: O dark and tragic day! Is my voice too soft to rouse your soul to wakefulness?! ...... Ugh. Work with me, Brady. I'm asking you to play music.
Brady: What, because they're havin' a festival, you want me to play violin?
Owain: There! Perhaps your soul's slumber is not so deep after all... Now take in hand the miraculous dragonsbeard, and—
Brady: And what's with all this dragonsbeard business? Violin strings are made from catgut, and my bowstrings are horsehair. No dragons involved, see?
Owain: Gods, you're no fun at all. It's called poetic license! I'm adding drama!
Brady: Yeah, whatever. Look, are we done? We got a battle to fight here.
Owain: Wait! Come on, play us a song!
Brady: Pass. I'm outta practice. I haven't played in weeks.
Owain: But it won't be a proper festival without music!
Brady: It won't be a proper festival with a buncha Risen walkin' around, neither!
Owain: Aww, come on! Pleeeease?!
Brady: GAH, fine! If it'll get you off my back, just...fine!
Owain: You'll do it?!
Brady: Not like I got much choice. Sheesh... All right. You wanted music — you got it. Sit down, shut up, and listen!

Owain: Ahh, such dulcet tones! The melancholy melody flows like a river, washing the spirit clean!
Brady: Uh, thanks?
Owain: It is the divine breath of the muse-gods that fills your mortal frame, Brady!
Brady: Stop. You're embarrassin' me. I got an image to keep here.
Owain: Heh, don't be so modest. I do not offer words of idle praise, friend. No, by lauding you. I've branded your soul with one of the six highest honors!
Brady: I got no clue what you're sayin'... But this might be the first time your usual malarkey ain't made me wanna slug ya.
Owain: You're welcome! And wow, you're pretty good at violin, huh?
Brady: Heh. Forgot you sound like an eight-year-old when talkin' normally.
Owain: You should have joined a symphony or something instead of an army!
Brady: How many symphonies you see fightin' Risen?
Owain: Still, I think it'd be a much better fit. Probably pays better too!
Brady: Look, I'm here because I wanna be, all right?!
Owain: It just seems like a waste, considering your potential.
Brady: Hey, I can't help that I'm an awful fighter...
Owain: That's not what I meant. You're a fine fighter, but I think you'd be a world-class musician!
Brady: Yeah, well, I don't need to be. Not now, anyway. This war's more important.
Owain: Well, at least you won't have to worry about making ends meet after this is all over.
Brady: Maybe. And what about you? What's your plan once the war's over?
Owain: M-me? Er... Huh. Honestly...I have no clue.
Brady: Why not try and be a poet? A guy what with your, uh...fancy take on words could really go places, yeah? Plus, then I could just hire you to write my lyrics!
Owain: Poetry, huh? Hmm... Yeah, actually, I could see that! Owain the Wordsmith! It's got a ring to it, eh?
Brady: Heh. I'm kinda surprised you went for it that quick-like.
Owain: Hark! On this day is born the voice of a thousand fallen angels! Adore me, muse of muses, whose honeyed words sweeten even life's bitterest truths!

—Owain leaves—

Brady: Good grief, I'm gonna end up regrettin' this, ain't I...