"Wats a pancake? Oh, bye." Drubbins says quickly as Viggo walks away before looking back at Margret. "Was he really castin' a spell on ya'? Dats bad, dats real bad. I kno' nuffin' 'bout magic, but a bloke doin' magic at ya' all secret like is always bad. Been done ta me a few times, blokes puttin' needles in me thinkin' bits. Used to not mind so much, 'cept now I'm tryin' ta use em more so anyone tryin' that again's gonna be gettin' a good krumpin'."

It was around this time that Nadia rounds the table to make her delivery. The smell was nearly overwhelming as it lit up the insides of his nostrils. It was just as heavenly as he remembered, but he held back on digging in on account of them not being his. The blokes at the tables, though, hadn't complained when she'd brought them over. Did they not understand what these were, or were they just being polite to the blue bloke? They weren't eating. 

He decided to breach the subject. "Uhhhhh," he started, not really experienced with pointing out other peoples mistakes. He pointed down at the golden brown goodness piled on their table. "Dat bloke got it wrong." He said tentatively. "Them is flapjacks. Ya can tell 'cause, see, dere flat an stuff." He waited for a moment for this information to sink in properly, then decided to be bold. "Can I 'ave 'em?"