Gem

Breda was in the corner snoring. Broche was still battling it out over the dartboard with Farman, Liza was playing a killer game of checkers with Ross, and a bunch of the other military guys were trying to outdo each other in a 'Who Can Sing a Barsong the Absolute Worst' contest. It nearly made one's ears bleed.

Jean had his back to the bar, watching the bedlam with a tolerant, goofy grin. A half-smoked cigarette rested between forefinger and middle, a barely-touched glass of scotch on the bar next to him.

"You feeling okay?" Roy asked after a bit.

"Yeah... just thinking about how I'm going to miss all of it. It'll be quiet and comfortable out in the country, but I'll miss these twerps."

Roy smiled. "Yeah. I guess spending more than a decade with these goons really makes them grow on you."

"Ah, well." Jean stubbed out his cigarette. "I'll be in and out of Central a lot once racing season starts up again."

"M'mm..."

"You should come see the horsed," the blonde said, watching as a poorly-aimed dart clipped Fury's glasses. "You'd like a few of them – Sandcastle's got your disposition exactly."

"So now you're comparing me to horses." Roy sipped his drink. "I feel so lucky."

"Well, hey. You'd always be able to talk to me at a race." Roy perked up at that. " Trainers usually wait with the owners during the race, but I like cheering from the front stands." Jean grinned. "That way I can cheer my sister on without pissing anybody off."

"Cute."

Jean got and wandered off towards the dartboard. "Be back in a few."