As the celebration grew to a fever pitch, Hassan was the life of the party - he was always in the middle of things, serving drinks, dancing with the most comely nuns and even attempting to sing in time with the band for one brief ill-advised stint, though at his insistence, nobody but Stina laughed.

He was sitting in the corner with Stina, nursing what was probably his third drink after drinking more stopped being a good idea while his comrade spoke with a strawberry blonde sister – or maybe she was just speaking to him while he drooled? Hassan was past the point of really caring. He sobered up quickly when the pirates walked in, however.

It probably came as little surprise that Hassan had always been keenly in touch with power dynamics; he knew who was in charge in any given situation or relationship, not just because it was usually him (at least when he wasn’t with the other Inquisitors). When the armed men entered, the energy of the room shifted fast, and Hassan furrowed his brow at feeling his power over this room ripped away from him. He hated being usurped, and he bit down on his immediate instinct to order the patrons in the inn to fall upon the newcomers and savage them bare-handed.

He was still stewing as the Secular Army Lieutenants approached them, but he forced a pleasant smile onto his features as they whispered their request and Stina slurred a response with drunken volume. “Of course!” Hassan said and rose to his feet quickly, maybe too quickly – in hindsight, he maybe hadn’t sobered up as much as he thought. “We are always happy to help.”