Guy pauses, and that's enough to shift the serving fork in Lazar's hand. A better grip. He watches Yseult over the back of head and parlour chair, eyes the slant of her shoulder.

Alright. He rolls the grapefruit back onto tablecloth. Lowers the fork, not too far,

"You're employing degenerates," Is a helluva a thing for a Vint to spit, especially one got his money like this. Not slaves, but cheap workers: Mostly Ander, shipped off for a bid at the good life. Maybe some of the pay will even make it home, bait in the pot. "I expected better of our mutual friends."

"Dunno why," Murmured, behind. They're pirates.