Good guts how could anyone look so damn severe in the midst of a party? Namur gulped down the cupful of whatever nasty pink concoction Thatch had stocked for refreshment and winced. It tasted dead on his tongue, and smell-tasted like a mound of overpoweringly rotten fruit. Not even enough alcoholic kick to make the taste worth the buzz. He crumpled the empty cup in his hand and tossed it in an overlarge trash bin a few feet away, then looked back at Maria with a lopsided grin.

"Look kind a like a fish out a water, sweetheart. Not a music fan?"