There are many people that a gang could set upon on a night, and even get away the victors. But even with the advantage of numbers, attacking the four tipsy people who'd been weaving down the street has turned out to be very much the wrong decision. Because the four tipsy people are in fact military trained. That they're tipsy barely impedes their reactions. It doesn't take them long to have it over with, breathing a little rushed, faces flushed with adrenaline and grins.
Percy contemplates the bittersweet emotions. "Happy memories," he says quietly, "have you taken 'Chelle or Lan there?"
"I've been a few times, mostly while Farmor - uh, my Grandma - was still alive. We've been a couple of times since."
"I've never quite managed to make it. My parents are occasionally weird about stuff like that."
"As little as physically possible. And one threat to have Dad arrested for kidnapping the time I asked if it would be okay was enough for me."
"What isn't wrong with them would be an easier question to answer," 'Chelle mutters sourly. "Some people just shouldn't be parents."
Percy gives 'Chelle a small nod of agreement. "Small mercies. Or in Dad's case, major mercies with great cooking skills."
"And as much as I would rather Lan's parents weren't walking disasters, I'm glad to have you all. It gives me an excuse to cook a lot."
"We would need to ask what sort of extremely debilitating illness took him away from the kitchen."
"I promise to forewarn you if I need to take a break from cooking at any point," Aaren says as he comes back in with a tray - upon which there is four bowls, filled with stew and rice.
'Chelle steals the remote and puts a Swedish crime drama on - she's merciful though, she leaves the subtitles on.
Percy squeezes Aaren's hand like he was waiting for it, but quickly resumes enjoying his bowl and watching the crime drama.
Lan complains good-naturedly throughout the show, never sounding or feeling all that serious.