Bucket's fast enough to cut the guy off and he skids to a stop in front of him, big smile paving the way for whatever stupid shit is about to pour out of his mouth. " What's up, man? I'm Bucket. D'you know where, uh, Bora is? "

"Well? What are you supposed to be?" Baby leans against the railing of the boat - dangerous both because of the gentle rock of the waves and because he's had more than a few apple cider/fireball cocktails. He himself is dressed as Elton John, a bedazzled Dodgers uniform hugging his hips. Somewhere around here, Uncle Moe and Dolly are also in their Elton John get-ups, but they're drunker than he is and having a lot more fun partying with the other old folks the Boos Cruise has attracted. Actually, he and whoever this unamused-seeming man is seem to be the youngest people on this tour. Baby nudges his oversized sunglasses down his nose. "I've given up on trying to guess."

" The way this thing is advertised I'm afraid you're going to have some very confused patrons showin' up to the club with their stuffed animals and love notes. " Fingers shakes his head as he appraises the large bonfire - not yet lit - and feels vaguely privileged enough that he's not only managed to hang out with Bo outside of bowling practice, but that he's getting to help with the pre-party set-up. He turns to Bo, arms crossed over his wide chest, as he considers his words. " People ain't very smart, Bo. You can't trust them to read. "

                                                           ┊É  claro  que  ele  não  confraterniza  com  aquela  merda  de  Defensores  da  Távola  e  é  difícil  pra  caralho  respeitar  essas  figuras  de  autoridade.  Mas  ele  tem  uma  questão  mais  profunda  em  aberto  com  Hunter  e  por  isso  se  esforça  para  ser  no  mínimo  educado.  Não  é  sua  culpa  o  que  aconteceu,  mas  ainda  fica  arisco  na  sua  presença.  É  das  poucas  pessoas  que  conhecem  suas  habilidades  e  não  foi  com  Calle  contando  que  descobriu,  foda-se.  Precisa  se  controlar  na  frente  do  defensor.  “―  É  difícil  pra  caralho  trazer  algo  decente  pra  cá."  Não  consegue  alterar  seu  linguajar,  mas  pelo  menos  não  está  mandando  ele  se  foder.  Se  senta  ao  lado  do  filho  de  Humbert  mesmo  sem  ser  convidado,  oferecendo  uma  das  cervejas  que  tem  na  mão  para  ele.  Está  acostumado  a  beber  qualquer  porcaria.  Não  é  dos  mais  seletivos  quando  a  intenção  é  encher  a  cara.  Mas  não  é  nenhum  idiota  para  não  ter  discernimento  sobre  o  que  pode  lhe  causar  uma  puta  ressaca.  “―  Achei  que  os  ricos  sabiam  aproveitar  melhor  a  grana."  Acaba  por  dizer  com  um  leve  dar  de  ombros,  não  deve  entrar  em  discussões  sociais  com  ele  ou  mandará  o  pouco  de  juízo  para  o  inferno.  “―  Vai  ficar  pro  show  do  Naveen?"