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"I'm Sara. Sara Knight. I have this friend...Langston? Dunno if you know 'im. Anyway, he seems to think that he's a terrible, worthless person 'cause he wasn't here for the fighting and lost some friends. Eru, we all lost friends," she sniffed, biting her lip. She didn't want to admit it, but the confrontation with Marcus had upset her greatly.

"Yeah, I know the feeling, believe it or not. Last time it happened... well." He lost his smile immediately. "Well, maybe I shouldn't go into it now. Let's just see about getting you sorted, shall we? I'm Seth Emerian. You wanna tell me who you are, hon, and what's got you so upset?"

"No, I only... I've only h-had one drink, and I'm still on it..." she stammered, holding the glass up as evidence. She reached up to her brow self-consciously, but yanked her hand away when it accidentally touched Zach's. "Sorry."

Nearby, Nat and Kelvin shared a look of amusement. It seemed that Zach was getting a little bit of revenge for the Christmas party.

I still have some of the Beverages from the future, though.

"Yeah. More sober'n that one, anyway," he said, nodding towards his partner. He bit his lip when he noticed her and Marcus fighting, but relaxed as soon as she left the room. Eying Cassie's face, he put a hand to her brow.

"Hey, are you okay? You're really hot. Have you been drinking too much?" he asked, sniffing her breath and peering into her eyes.

Sara grumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"Just frustrated. Y'know when someone's being reeeeally stupid, and you just wanna bash some sense into them because you know they know better? ...Yeah..."

Luke asked, then decided he didn't want to know. Probably something to do with the girl Marcus had been yelling at earlier. "And... Leto, don't give him any more," he added in an undertone to the bartender. "He's gonna end up killing himself if he goes on like this."

Turning back to Marcus, he tried to act nonchalant. "Y'know, like, back in '05, when we did the, the, exorcism of Middle-earth f' those Pyros, an' stuff."

"F'r a sec, thought ya were gonna preach a'me like th' other 'un," he said, reaching for the bottle again only to realise that it was now totally empty. Sighing, he set the bottle down again. "'Ey, Leto, c'n I have annuver?" He asked, nodding appreciatively when a new bottle of vodka was, hesitantly, set in front of him. Taking a large gulp, he turned in his seat again to face Luke, gripping the bottle tightly and looking at Luke like he'd lay the big man out if he tried to take it away from him. "Heh...arright. Yeah, 'm arright. A thou' Agents, they ain't arright, but 'm arright, yeah. Arright 'cause they wouldn' lemme at 'em," another sip, then he continued. "Arright, how's ya askin' tha'? Let'm get killed. Jesus, wha' the 'ell'm I doin' 'ere? Couldn' do JACK." Shaking his head, he looked up at his friend when Luke mentioned "the good old days".

"G'd ol' days? Which?"

"Hey, it's okay, man," he replied, making himself comfortable and eyeing the vodka bottle. "You sure you're all right? Never seen you drink before. 'S not like you." He nudged the bottle away, a feeling of mild concern pushing through his tipsiness. Marcus never drank, in fact he'd always expressed distaste for the idea.

"C'mon, let's just... talk a bit, eh? Talk about, y'know, the good old days an' stuff."

and almost fell right off his seat. Managing to right himself and stop from shouting several drunken obscenities at his old friend, he took a few breaths as Leto called over some people to have a drink. It took him a few moments to recognise Luke, but when he did he let out a small, drunken, laugh. "'s you...heh, shouldn' sneak up'n peoples like tha', Lukey-boy. S'whaddya wan'?"

"Yes, we're from Norway. 'The Infernal Trio' is just because we're..."
"A bunch of zarking idiots."
"Thanks, Krisp. Well, I guess people could practice saying our names, but they usually don't make that effort. They can't even write them properly. Well, most of the time, I mean."

"'S all... sad, innit. To the fallen!" he added, holding his own drink up briefly before downing it.

Over on the other side of the room, Cassie and Nat added their voices to the shouting, Cassie's bottom lip wobbling slightly due to the emotions of the scene and the alcohol she'd drunk.

In yet another part of the room, Jessie raised her glass, but paused for a moment before drinking. "To absent friends," she murmured, and drained the glass.

Seth also left the room, not really in the mood for a crowd of people, and wandered down the corridor. He came across a young woman sitting against the wall, looking rather less than happy, and stopped. "Hey, are you okay?" He knelt down next to her. "You don't look too good." He smelled the alcohol on her breath, but decided not to mention it.

Meanwhile, back in the General Store, Luke had spotted the little argument at the bar and wandered over, a little tipsy himself. "Hey, man," he greeted the older Agent, dropping onto a stool. "What's up with you? Never seen you drinking like this before, an', an' you don't go arguing with people."

"It 'as, yeah. 'Ow 'ave ya been?" She couldn't help but grin widely on remembering the last time they'd met up with him at a party. "Plannin' ta stay sober this time, I 'ope?"

Cassie, on the other hand, turned a vivid shade of pink and gave him an equally sheepish smile back. "Hi," she mumbled, stirring her cocktail with the little umbrella that somebody had plopped into it.

Kelvin just shared a sympathetic look with the young man and nodded his greetings.

Leas started towards the bar. "I suppose Norwegian looks more difficult than some languages, but sounds faintly Germanic."

He nodded at the names, then blinked. "The Infernal Trio because your names are difficult to pronounce? I suppose, though I don't quite see it myself. One could practice, couldn't they?"

"Well, I have this nickname because not many people outside Norway can pronounce my real name. In fact, that's what they say when they give up, and Krisprolls had this stupid idea of nicknaming me this. I retaliated by giving him the name of a Swedish roasted bread brand which kinda looks like his name, and South has this name because he was originally named after the most Southern part of our country."
"Like 'Statsraad Lehmkuhl' is so difficult to say."
"What South said. By the way, I'm Christian Radich and this guy is Sorlandet. And I guess you know why people called us the Infernal Trio. We totally deserve it. OK, let's go to the bar."

"Well, I think you got quite the gist of what we've been called," said Krisp. "It's even been worse from some of our friends. Cute animal, by the way."
"Krisp... Are you encouraging them, or what?"
"Yes, I am."
"Krisp..." What' glared at him.

"I did have friends in the ranks," Leto said. "Here, let me get you a drink." Milask walked over to the bar. "What are you drinking?"

"Lest we forget," Deryn murmured in another part of the crowd, hand going to the sprig of rosemary she was wearing.

"If you don't mind my asking, may I ask why those names?" he asked, adding by way of explanation, "I'm curious. They seem a bit unusual.

"There seems to be a bar over there. Maybe we could relocate there?" He didn't quite want to impose on Trojie more than was necessary, after all.

"Truthfully, I was being kind," he admitted. "I'm not usually so polite, but I think it would be disrespectful to say something like..." Here, he let loose a stream of profanity that made Adder stuff the rest of the Bleepolate bar into her mouth and reach for another. "...in the middle of a memorial gathering such as this.

Adder rolled her eyes heavenward again. "Well, so much for that..."

At that moment, Cthulhu (who had been asleep in Adder's hood until this point) abruptly awoke. Nose twitching, he spotted the Bleepolate and scurried onto Adder's shoulder to lunge for it.

"ARGH! NO! BAD FERRET! GET YOUR OWN!"

Cthulhu chirruped something in annoyance and nipped Adder sharply on the ear.

"Zarking. I must write this down," said Krisp. "Don't worry about the Vulcans, it's a joke between us. What' is the oldest, so he often get to be called a Vulcan."
"I think I'm old enough to qualify, but for the rest.."
"There ain't no rest."
"What South said. Anyway, you guessed well for the 'zarking idiots'. It's the first time in quite a while we've been called so mildly. And whe I say a while... it means the 1950s or 60s. The usual stuff we got from our fellow tall ships was '...ing arseholes' and even that was rather mild. I spare you the rest."

Swallowing her mouthful of Bleepolate, she nudged her partner. "Say Deuce, what would you say about this Infernal Trio?"

Deuce snerked. "Vulcans my arse. They're a bunch of zarking idiots."

Adder gaped at him. "I never thought I'd hear you talk in Douglas Adams slang. Somehow my brain fails to fathom it. I think I need to scrub that from my memory." With that said, she took another large bite of Bleepolate.

-Agents that came by. His head cradled in his hands, he didn't bother finishing off what was left of the drink, trying to gather his thoughts. Of course, with the alcohol in him that wasn't easy, but he still made an effort. How could he have been so stupid? He was just screwing it all up. Did Sara have a point...? Did it matter? When Leto called the toast to the fallen, he raised the almost-empty bottle. "T' absent friends!" He shouted over the din of people toasting.

"To the departed, who go to a far better retirement than we will ever know!" Small Murphy piped up, hoisting his flask.

"Ta a right an' propa WAAAGH!" Zodfang bellowed, though he himself had no drink.

"To the glorious dead!"

"DEDICATION: TO THE ONE THOUSAND AGENTS KILLED IN THE MARY SUE INVASION."

Shot glasses and Bleepka bottles were raised high as dedications ran the course of the store. Marcus supposed most of those in the room deserved to be there far more than he, but he couldn't help it. If he couldn't fight, he'd at least pay his respects, he figured. "Tch, disrespect...what does she know...?"