"Not oshygen? Not lovely oshygen? Oh I am eshcruchiated!"
The creature sobbed and took another drink. He staggered back and fell into his chair, where he fell into a weeping spree, his head buried in his hands.
O'Dea glanced swiftly. His elbow dug into Hawthorne's ribs.
Hawthorne nodded. They quietly picked up the wrenches they had kept nearby; started toward Morguma.
One on each side, they moved cautiously. Silently they moved forward until they came within striking distance.
Hawthorne waved O'Dea back, gesturing to his own powerful right arm. O'Dea nodded, poised his weapon for the follow up swing. Hawthorne raised the wrench.
And then Morguma's whip flicked out.
Hawthorne's eyes remained fastened to his empty hand as the wrench clattered into a corner. Again the snap of Centaur leather, and O'Dea's weapon joined the other. The two men stood foolishly, like a pair of boys caught stealing apples. Morguma spoke:
"Oh you bad bad people! Go back to control board; let poor Morguma alone. Oh I am deshicated to think you would do thish to poor old frien' Morguma!"