Mufasa: Scar!
Scar: Why if it isn't my big brother descending from on high to mingle with the commoners.
Mufasa: Sarabi and I didn't see you at the presentation of Simba.
Scar: That was today? Oh, I feel simply awful. (scratches claws against a rock like nails on a chalkboard, irritating Zazu) Must've slipped my mind.
Zazu: Yes, well, as slippery as your mind is, as the king's brother, you should have been first in line!
Scar: I was first in line. Until the little hairball was born.
Mufasa: That hairball is my son and your future king.
Scar (sarcastically): Oh, I shall practice my curtsy. (turns to leave)
Mufasa: (becoming angry) Don't turn your back on me, Scar.
Scar: Oh no, Mufasa. Perhaps you shouldn't turn your back on me.
(Mufasa roars and leaps in front of Scar)
Mufasa: Is that a challenge?!
Scar: Temper, temper. I wouldn't dream of challenging you.
Zazu: Pity. Why not?
Scar: Well, as far as brains go, I've got the lion's share. But when it comes to brute strength... I'm afraid I'm at the shallow end of the gene pool. (skulks away)
Zazu: (to Mufasa) There's one in every family, sire - two in mine, actually - and they always manage to ruin special occassions.
Mufasa: What am I going to do with him?
Zazu: He'd make a very handsome throw rug.
Mufasa: (grinning) Zazu!
Zazu: And just think! Whenever he gets dirty, you could take him out and beat him.
Mufasa: (laughs)
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