"Money's there to bring people joy. I wasn't using it so much, might as well give him some."

"He got lots of joy alright. Never had so much. Was passed out most of the afternoon."

"Wazz not."

"It's seven PM."

"Oh... guess I was..."

"Oh well, guess my purse needed lightening."

"...how are ya alive?"

"Z makes friendzzzzz."

"Wait, is that the answer?" wonders Gabriel from another table. "You're nice to people and they protect you?"

"You're ignoring his gun again," says Hal.

"Speaking of," he says, then unholsters his gun and offers it to Hilda again.

"...keep it, alphabet boy. Ya need all the protection you can get.

"So what can I getcha?"

"Give me whatever he's having," he replies, hiking his thumb in John's direction.

"Really? That cheap shit? You're a weird rich dumb boy."

"Yes, really. I'm a smart rich dumb boy."

("Cheap shit", huh?)

"Can't figure ya out," she sighs.

"Thought you said you knew my type."

"Thought I did. Now, I'm not so sure. Jilly told me you chatted."

"I hate that nickname," grumbles Jill from where she's drinking alone in a corner, mostly out of everyone's sight.

They're big enough to be a city but they gossip like a small town. It's very endearing.

"Suppose I'll remain a mystery to be deciphered."

"Then ya say things like this and sound like every other feckless boy what gone to their deaths in the wasteland. Water with your piss?"

"In a separate bottle, please."

"Don't worry sweetheart it's watered down enough by itself."

He sits at the table John is slumped over and grins at him. "So how's my favourite lump doing? Had a good day?"

"Bullied, I tells ye."