Oh ho! A target. Well then! Thatch stumbled his way over, reaching up to loosen his neckerchief only to realize it was tied to his head. That was right. He was lil' yellow' ridin'...somethin'. He walks in a more or less straight line toward Ace and draped an arm over his shoulder like a bad curtain.

"Acelet! My little Aclet," he crooned as he rubbed his knuckles against Ace's cheek. "Try th' veal-- I mean punch." He grinned. "I think I'mna have another glass."