"Gentle bain, we ken well enough what the offer is and what you expect to get out of it," said the old lady. 
"You'd be surprised how often this comes up!" said the matronly woman, sitting down heavily on the stands with a crash. 
"The second a political crisis hits half the maids in power start spillin' their tits out trying to get us to get our master to pick a side," confirmed Serra. "It'd be offensive, if there weren't so many tits."
"But what's this place to us? What's so auspicious about these couple dozen cyborgs that our gentle naf yonder can't take a spell to figure out what's actually happening and if it's worth our time?"
"Those are [i]my [/i]men," snapped November-Black. "They're not disposable -"
"Och aye, then by rights I reckon you should be having them shooting back," said the armour-matron.
"Or have thy tits out," shrugged Sarra.
"So, how to?" said the crone. "Is this the work of the Archenemy? Is this the work of the Devourer? Mayhaps we are facing the wiles of the Aeldari and their wicked subornation of the Vindicare temple? Or mayhaps the priests of Mars are having a theological disagreement as to the operation of this arena, and you are trying to sweep us up in the momentum of the thing."