Snorting a laugh, Piers shrugged. “In Kuwait, the booze they had may as well have been toe juice. I imagine it tasted the same.” He chuckled. “Only time I got a decent bottle was when my mother sent me care packages. And even then some of the other guys stole about half of it.” Smirking as he thought back to his days overseas, he shrugged. “The good ol' days, you know? Gotta miss 'em sometimes.”
Piers couldn't help but laugh again when she started doling out points. “I remember when knowing someone's name used to count for more than three points. You, ma'am, are a tough judge,” he said in his slight drawl—which sometimes he tended to exaggerate when he was talking to a lady. “Huh. You know I think I actually have a coin in my pocket?” he mused, setting his drink back down on the counter and standing up from his stool, digging into his pocket and coming up with a lint and rust covered nickel. He flipped it in her direction and smirked. “Not getting out of it that easy.”
With an agreeing nod, Piers shrugged. “Oh, I absolutely agree with you,” he said as he stood from his stool, moving the few stools down to sit in the stool next to her, since there wasn't much he disliked more than talking over a large empty space. “But old habits die hard for some, you know? Some people are, like... more social than they are practical.” He chuckled. “You'd think that would've come out of that by now, but people will be people, I guess. What do you do here, anyway?”
Glancing at the napkin, he shrugged, and glanced over to make sure the girl wasn't looking, before leaning forward and saying, “I honestly prefer a challenge.”