In one of the corner booths a man in motorcycle leathers and a tall red head in a dress that left little to the imagination were arguing. "Why here lord? The beer sucks and the staff are unpleasant." "That crack about the beer is unfair - it is not all Boddingtons - and don't call me Lord, Varne. Anyway this place is a hole in reality. I can use power here that would not work anywhere else with a solid grasp on physics." "You could do that anywhere, Magnus." "Not without a price I am not prepared to pay. I have managed a fair approximation to humanity and I am not going to give it up without a better reason than indulging my whims. Look what happened to Fenric when he went the tin god route." "Well in that case why not do something about the staff? Francois does not even know how to mix a decent snowball." "That is your problem, Varne. I think snowballs are horrible. Tell you what, I will release you from the command about damage to staff. And the one about changing into mythological creatures. Try not to do anything permanent." "Yes, Lord." "Varne, don't call me that, please. We both know you are only obeying me from whim." "Spoilsport!"