I had one smooth talk me and steal my knife, he could say, but Councillor Thevenet had been nothing but cordial since he got here, had returned his knife, and he isn't really in the business of being unnecessary unpleasant or making things difficult for people.

On the other hand, suddenly Bethany is talking about nudity and he exhales a rough chuckle. "We'll find you a nice Nevarran, someday. There's bound to be some friendly ones around here."

The Councillor and the Seeker are probably not the people Bethany wants on such a list, though, he's guessing. "I'd say it means we have better taste," he agrees, amused and placating, "but I also like brown leather and fur, and I hear that's not all the rage these days."

As she wobbles with the shake of her head, Herc places a steadying hand on her elbow, waiting to need to grab her if she topples. In his experience, it's harder to get a drunk back onto a chair from the floor than it is to stop them toppling in the first place. "Life's hard when you're the diplomat," he agrees. "Got you plenty of practice for keeping the Wardens in line, though." Bright side? Maybe not so much.