[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

Squatter eyed the empty glasses ruefully. Good whisky never seemed to last long enough, and champagne was always a poor substitute. Rising, he deposited his two glasses on another tray, pausing for a moment to note the convenience of its bearer's timing, and made his way back to the bar. Unless he stood there, he reflected, the chances were that someone else with a taste for the water of life might beat him to it and guzzle the lot. Briefly he considered the prospect of watching a live awards ceremony sober and shuddered. "Same again, please," he said briskly. "And could you re-fill the glass if you see it empty? Thanks." A large note and a large glass of whisky changed hands, and Squatter breathed in the heady aroma. This was good stuff: he really ought to congratulate Mithadan on finding it once the Grey Man had finished chatting up the ladies.

And small wonder, he mused as he looked more closely at Number Four's companions and recognition slowly dawned. Some people, he reflected, might be born to run up bar tabs, but others were meant to dress for these events and he could see the poor fellow's reasoning. "What ho, L old thing!" he drawled in Wodehousean tones. "What ho, Diamond! I say, Mith, old boy: are you hogging all the decent girls over there? Excellent scotch, by the way."

Toasting the three figures in jocular fashion, Squatter took another sip of the single malt. The evening was shaping up to be rather fun.

[ May 01, 2003: Message edited by: The Squatter of Amon Rûdh ]