"Yes ma'am," he said, feigning nervousness. He rubbed the back of his neck, squirming slightly. "Sorry, ma'am."
He grinned up at her mischievously. "Right, ma'am," he said, adopting a southern twang. "Sorry, ma'am."
"This town ain't big enough for the both of us," he continued, grinning widely. "So just scram, y'hear?"
"We've been over this, lil' darlin'," he said, his accent becoming smoother and less cumbersome. "You wouldn't hurt me any more than you'd hurt a junebug."
"Ugh, I can even think when you're making that voice! Go spit tobacco in a can, or something." She stuck her tongue out at him, her hands still over her ears.
He frowned, almost reminiscent of a puppy that had been scolded. "Mighty sorry, ma'am," he said, shaking his head. He began to trudge away. "I didn't mean to disappoint you.."
She frowned, then adopted the accent herself. "Well, mister, ah don't quite know. Perhaps I'll cut your throat with mah knife, yessiree."
"Mah heart is pounding as if I'm a sinner in church," he said, looking down at her and laughing lightly. "Except, if I recall correctly, I do believe that we have run tests, and the results say that you are incapable of killing me. But please, correct me if I'm wrong, little lady."
"Hmm." She tapped her chin, before pulling a knife from her belt, flipping in her hands. "I must say I disagree, for I am a changed woman."
