It's fucking cold, and Wyatt for one isn't planning on moving an inch until he feels warm again. This may take a long while, but that's the plan.

And...and, okay, his brain needs to take a godsbedamned holiday already. "Yeah, I'm not bending over any kind of table to handle any sort of big stick, Glitch. Not nearly drunk enough yet."

Speaking of which: he does ease up on the teasing snark-banter, and raises his tumbler. "How about a toast?"