"Careful," Hagar sing-songed. "Someone could think you prejudiced." Not that it mattered any, in this crowd. The still-sober patrons were too preoccupied with themselves to pay Lot any mind. The ones well on their way to drunken stupor had a different goal in their sights than dropping eaves.
It was why Hagar allowed herself a smile, her gaze softening even as Lot's seemed to harden. (She had never been much of a follower, or reliable in keeping pace with anyone's moods but her own.) "Who said anything about mercy?" Or pity, Hagar thought but didn't say. As much as she appreciated Lot's candor, he was an ally too important to gamble away for the sake of frivolity. "You've been listening to Mustang again, haven't you? Girl's not my best spokesperson, I'll admit. Could be you should try collecting first-hand evidence for yourself..."
He scoffed away her attempt before Hagar could bolster it with flattery. The message was clear. It said: not interested. Hagar backed off. "Now, now," she chided gamely. "We ain't buried anyone in here yet... At least, I don't think. Shit, if you did, don't tell me. I'd rather not know all the nefarious shit you get up to." It hadn't escaped her that for all the prep-work going on outside, Lot had taken the first opportunity to make his way into the tavern. He didn't want to be out there any more than Hagar herself did. They each had their demons.