Thatch watched the festivities going on inside with no thought to joining them other than occasionally raiding the snack table. Everything had turned out well and no one was causing a drunken stir yet--but there was no need to be disappointed. The night was still young.

He should join and do something. Someone would notice. They always did. But he was feeling damn tired for some reason. Weary-- No... He knew the reason. In a few weeks it would be six years to the day that he'd been in this place. Six years since--he'd started this new life. He hadn't told Namur. What could the Fishman do with information like that? Nothing but frown even more fiercely than he naturally did. As far as he was concerned, it was only a date that Thatch needed to know about and after that--

after that--

well he wasn't sure. But maybe he could finally wash the sour taste of this place out of his mouth and replace it with something bearable. For now, though, he rested against a stone pillar, sipped a bottle of whiskey, and watched everyone have fun.