Alas, poor drink umbrella. You were destined for tropical climes, but you’ve flown too close to the sun now. Tissue-thin paper curls as the naked flame of your death approaches, when from the heavens descends a hand of wispy clouds. At its gentle insistence, the flame comes no closer, sparing you a fate most ironic as its owner pleads mercy with the Princess of Skull and Flame.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think you should bring a molotov cocktail to a bar fight.” The little flame reflects in his wide eyes, illuminating great caverns of worry. “I don’t think it’ll get you anything you want. Unless you want the entire bar to ally against you and throw you out the nearest window.” On account of the fact that this particular bar didn’t have a swinging door to throw disreputable miscreants out of.

But what cares the sun for such trivialities? Weigh all the clouds in the sky against the heart of the Skull Princess, and see that clouds are cowards, actually. Heed well her words, oh rebellious ones of the sky, and by her cry of “come onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn” will you just! Let her! Set a little fire!

The clouds remained, unmoving and uninebriated. “No, yes, I’m quite serious. It’s true. There are hundreds of disconnected worlds out there who have figured out bars, and also that people like to come to them to get into fights. The forms are a little different, but in the customs, there’s a surprising amount of overlap. Chief among them; no one is to bring a real, serious weapon. You may bring your body, and the odd improvised weapon, provided it doesn’t cause grievous pain or significant bother, and nothing more. You could win the fight handily if you were the first to pull a knife, sure, but it wouldn’t make you the winner. It would…it would be like surviving a battle by covering your Lantern to hide.”

And you’re better than that, aren’t you, Princess? You’re strong, you’re tough, you don’t take nonsense from anybody, and you would never betray your heart like that. It would break his heart to see you in such dishonor.

“If I may,” he adds, arm only shaking a moderate amount with the effort of holding back the lighter. “Have you considered a tactical advisor? Someone who knows the territory, who can help translate your strategies into action?” Up he rose in his chair, as straight-backed as one could sit while still wrestling with a mouse. “I am recently out of a job, after all. I’d gather a list of references, but they are all very far away, and you’d have to push me all the way back across the galaxy to get them."