There is a stage— I know a musician here, she'd mentioned performing there. I'll make a note to ask. [About what goes on there and maybe if she knows anything about the big rock, both. She's a sharp one with her fingers in a few pies, who knows - maybe they... talk... about it? Backstage?

He'll work on it. And maybe the Sixth did have a back room making bone-moonshine, who knows; this is definitely not the kind of thing Palamedes was interested in, but he wouldn't be surprised. He scoffs, amused and leaning towards Viktor a smidge, just in case.]

The Oversight Body would have had a field day. I could have modified some tubing for them to use, if they were back there somewhere. [A beat.] I don't know how alcohol is made.

[Ha— and now they're out in the fresh air, the evening chill (well, he assumes it's evening) a welcome reprieve after the cloistered humidity at Earworm's entrance. It hits him full in the face and he feels - sharper, despite all logic telling him he isn't any sharper at all with the alcohol still in his system. Still, it's the moment: the fresh air, the neon glow behind them, the press of Viktor's hand - another moment to wrap carefully and remember, more precious almost in its simplicity.

Hoo boy. Alright. He looks down at his hand.] It's— fine. It stings, but it's nothing intolerable. We passed The Red on our way here; shall we?