"Scotch. Something expensive since my friend here is buying."

Simon throws his arm around Lancelot in what he imagines is a brotherly way, though the way he says 'friend' is tinged with malice. The way Simon sees it, Lancelot owes him for not picking up his phone that night everything went to hell. The drink only partway makes up for it.

"Some Guardian you are," he mutters when the barman has his back turned. "I nearly got stabbed to death by a fucking hunter a few nights ago. Did you know that?"