[Cipher7071]

"Ah... very good, General. But, perhaps you misunderstand. On a bottle of a true stout it tells the place of its brewing. In the case of Guiness, that place is St. James Gate, Dublin. We'll make a bartender of you yet, General. But it does beg the question, what of Taz?"

With that, Cipher removes a small tin and cloth from his pocket, and attempts to polish away what remains of the green goo that was splashed on his nickel-plated hide.

"I've not seen Taz since the last melee."

He glances down again and notices that his polishing compound, although it seems to have acted as a solvent on the goo, has only served to spread the blemish upon his person.

"Oh, bother. I thought this compound would remove anything. There's only one thing for it, I suppose."

With that, Cipher's countenance became blank as the fabric of his existence began to shimmer away to his lair deep within the Mandelbrot set. At the vanishing point, the film of goo, compund, and tarnish fell away as a fine dust upon the floor. In a second, back he shimmered upon the stool, none the worse for wear.

"That's done it. Interesting what one can do with applied mathematics. How's my timing, bartender-General, have you located that stout?"