“So I handed the idiot his shirt, but only after he let her throw half a dozen darts at him,” Tymun said, laughing with those gathered around and listening. “She hit the board on four—better than I expected, let me tell you—but she stuck him good with the other two. In the chaos, I don’t think he remembered to make good on her offer of a kiss.”
Meto chuckled affably next to him, well into his sixth beer. Tymun himself had moved on from the expensive whiskey, opting instead for the more manageable house ale. They were hardly the only ones the worse for drink; the two Phoenix Guards, who introduced themselves as Emmis and Ariella, had met them drink for drink.