Movement from across the room caught Rook's eye, and he slipped his hand under his silken tunic out of instinct, but the elf was faster. His fingers closed around a broad-bladed dagger, one of two in a small leather harness hidden by his lavish garb, and was ready to throw, but the tip of Thoraniel's blade was already at his chest. [i]Too slow, too drunk. Should have kicked her. [/i]

"Do [i]not[/i] speak to her like that..." she hissed at him. "Had Thaddeus not needed you, you would have been dead now." 

Instead of flaring into a rage, he took a deep breath through his nose and his mouth curled into the smallest of smiles. 

"You know, its cute and all what you just did..." he inclined his head toward Lila. "But I think the dame can handle herself. I have about as much a chance to crack open that treasure chest as I do to turn this here knotted wood into gold." He tapped his foot against the table they were all sitting around. "That being said, Thaddeus, make sure Miss Whiskey-sours over here keeps her blades pointed toward the enemy. I didnt come all this way to get killed by a poor sport, you hear?" He locked eyes with the Watchful, trying to convey the [i]holy-shit-what-was-that[/i] feeling swimming in Rook's gut at the moment.

The Man of Fortune was feeling less fortunate by the minute. He took the small dagger already in his hands, went to clean under his nails, but realizing he had nothing to clean, slipped it back into its sheath and took a long, long drag from his ever-present white clay jug. After a moment, he lowered the jug and placed it on the table. "I dont work with anyone I dont know, and anyone I haven't had a drink with. So, bottom's up, dont be shy." He nodded to the jug, curious to see who would grab it first.