While Prometheus slumbered, they spread their spoils out on the bed. The practice of trading the pretty bits of paper with which Prometheus supplied for goods, was great fun, and while Caeneus took the lion's share of the blame for the bags of trinkets hidden beneath the bed, Caenis' taste for jewelry meant that should they be called to account, they would - of course - stand together.
Caeneus chuckled as the bottles of wine slid and clinked together as he bounced on the bed, and Caenis' scolding hardly diminished the child-like glee of the man who found joy in the simplest of things in the large, vibrant new world into which they'd been liberated. A sharp knife proved efficient when it came to liberating brightly colored weaponry out of its packaging, and Caeneus smuggled them into the bath so that they could adequately train in their use prior to battle.
Celio had called the weapons 'Super Soakers,' going to great lengths to explain their operation to Caeneus, once chatter in the street had reached their ears about the festival. Caeneus, of course, had immediately wanted to participate, and Caenis was no less excited. Casualties included all of the thick towels and the rack upon which they had once hung. The mirror had been unintentional, and the large, blocky thing had been a monstrosity, so neither mourned its loss.
The flasks were carefully divided, with the extra gifted to Prometheus in return for his continued kindness, and Caeneus managed empty the bottles into the flasks and the guns, with only a little dribbling to the sheets or down his throat in the process.
Clad in a pristine white shirt and the shorts of compromise, they carefully laid Prometheus portion of the armory on the floor outside the slumbering Titan's bedroom, and once a pamphlet explaining the day's battle had been added, they slipped out of the suite with their weapon and ammunition to take the lay of the land.
The Batalla del Vino was at hand, and they would find the most advantageous spot to lay in wait for their Titan. The streets of Haro would soon run red with rivers of wine, and they would be in the thick of it.