"I could turn something of theirs into scythes," Rus suggests hopefully.
Rus swallows and his hands convulse into fists. "They don't count," he says, his face going empty and his eyes staring at something that isn't there. "You can't fight back." His voice is almost inaudible.
"That's not enough," he growls. "That's not nearly enough!" Alf bustles over. "How's everything going?" he asks cheerfully, handing round the drinks.
"Just fine," rasps T1. "Rus here's got quite a game." Alf beams happily. "Think he'll do?" He asks T1 quietly. T2 looks up from his fresh lager and Rus looks up too. He takes one of the wings that are left on the plate. "Have one," he offers T2 around his mouthful. T2, who had been eying the plate, doesn't waste any time helping himself. "Thanks," he mumbles around a wing.
The reaction is almost classic. T2's face flushes and his eyes widen. He gasps and set the wing back on the plate. Then he coughs explosively and grabs his glass which he drains in two swallows.
"Sorry," Rus says contritely, picking up another wing. "Should have warned you. They're hot."
Don't forget the oleander salad! ;) All covered in the email replies. I got in here (finally!), but I have no idea if I'll be able to get into the Holmes thread. Keep your fingers crossed. On second thought- go to bed! :)