[center]
[b][h1]Charles Ackerman[/h1][/b]
[/center]

An intake of breath as Fiona and Leander started to float the possibility of having a go at it. A vein popped in Charles's forehead at the thought. 

[b]"Twenty years, I've been running this bar. Twenty years, I've hosted the annual gathering on Peyton's request. And without fail, once a generation, someone thinks it a grand idea to have a battle on this night."[/b] He groaned, grabbing a glass before pouring himself a dram of single malt. [b]"By all means, demonstrate why this is a poor idea. I could use the renovation funds from the Chairman once he finds out exactly how the Cliffside burnt down for the fourth time in two decades."[/b]

Charles finished his rant by pouring a second glass of whiskey, handing it over towards Briar before proceeding to refill Beryl's drink as well. 

[color=lightblue][b]"Aww, c'monnn!"[/b][/color] Fiona jeered as she swigged down more booze, arms stretched out wide. 
[color=lightblue][b]"We'll be...well, I ain't gonna say [i]careful[/i], but we won't tag tha Cliffside?"[/b][/color] She looked around the bar, as if asking for support. [color=lightblue][b]"Back me up here, aye? Me an' Leander'll be totally capable of not hittin' th' bar, nae shite?"[/b][/color]

Before Charles could respond with what exactly he thought of that sentiment, the conversation was interrupted by an utterly bedraggled Ryker finally entering the bar. The old trainer refrained from expressing his dismay at the amount of water the Champion was tracking in, settling for giving him an exasperated stare before mixing up his requested rum and coke. 

[b]"Peyton's not arrived, no. Though now I hope he does soon. The state you're in would give that tosser conniptions."[/b] Was the ability to speak so casually of their collective superior a product of nepotism? Absolutely. Did he care? Not particularly.