Another grinding laugh, this one punctuated by Marcoulf raising his empty hand to mimic a toast. Cheers to that. The eyebrow he quirks to go along with it must pull at the sorest parts of his face though because afterward he touches his brow and massages the swollen eye and cheek with a grimace. "The next time anyone asks for a favor," he says, prodding the tender flesh. "Remind me of this moment."

That's an exaggeration. Subjecting himself to the Grand Melee hadn't been a favor so much as an-- order? Surely there's no refusing Luwenna Coupe, even when she phrases things as requests. Never mind that he would've found some way onto the field regardless...