"'ey there, pretty boy! How goes the regrowin' of the hair?" Cooper slurs, his Irish accent a little thicker than usual thanks to the alcohol. He thumps Thomas on the shoulder. He means it to be friendly, but it's hard enough to make the other's knees buckle, forgetting his strength for a moment.

"Pick yer poison 'n join in the fun. We're celebratin'!" He's got an empty glass in his hand, but it won't stay that way for long. He's already heading back to the bar for another round.