That knowledge, however, was no comfort. He had taken off his helmet and thrown back his hood, trying not to breath too heavy as the sweat poured down his face. The other knights and pony guards had taking to leaning against the walls or even sitting down on the floor, the dignitaries at the table and the attendant servants not making a fuss about the lack of professionalism in this instance, a silent, collective agreement of ‘fuck decorum’ having been put into effect. Handy had lasted longer than most of his fellows before running out of all the professional, weapons grade fucks he had to give.