"We can't get the mannequin without the mannequin's liver!", you sputter out in exasperation at the man with the head of a goat.
"What?", screams the goatman, glaring at you.
"What's your name?", you yell back, hands on your hips.
"Al-chi-chi", he responds, hands on his hips.
"Al-chi-chi?", you bellow.
"Yes!", he exclaims, "Do you find my name difficult to remember?"
"Not at all", you say, "I never forget a face"
"What about him?", you ask.
"Who?", says Al-chi-Chi, scratching his ear with his hoof.
"Him!", you say, pointing at the rusty, iron, suit of armour with the cast iron pot for a lid that you had picked up along the way.
"What do you mean? What about him? There's no him. That's a rusty suit of armour and a cast iron pot you're pulling behind you on a red rocket wagon. I thought you knew what to do with it, you're the one that grabbed it . what's the matter with you?", says Al-chi-chi, who seems increasingly annoyed with you/
"Well, it just might come in handy, and for the record it is a she, and her name is Rosella.", you say indigantly, trying to save face, caressing the cast iron pot and making cooing noises.
"Good then", he says, "let's go get the mannequin."
"Someone has to give him a liver!", cries the goatfaced Al-chi-chi.