Herc's got quite a fine collection of socks, courtesy of Bethany. Not always sure about the patterns, but it's not like he could ever sneeze at a good pair. Right now he's wearing one pair layered over another, so his boots are a little too snug, but at least his feet are warm. (Or, one is. The other is soggy from a hole worn in the leather, a problem for a later day and that could be forgotten with this ale.)

"All right." Like he's going to win an argument with drunk Bethany, though his expression is somewhere between fond and concerned.

"Ogres of mugs?" She's won a warm chuckle from him, at least, even if it's quiet. "That'll make for a gruesome hangover, you know," Herc adds, sipping his own ale. "You reckon there's a mug for every darkspawn variety out there? Maybe a genlock, or a shriek."

This could be an interesting or terrible conversation, and when next the barmaid wanders by, he's just discretely asking for a couple of waters. Just to have it to hand.