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Camera cuts to two shadowy figures whispering in the dark. Well, not so much shadowy as "woolly". Vivaldi glances their way, mutters "tastes like chicken, always chicken" at them while scratching behind his ear. The two small figures nod, seem to confer silently for a moment while Harv methodically inspects his right toes, then, apparently, roll into a ball and dart into a pipe.
(We are still at the pumping station, right? There would be pipes around?)
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