Handy wasn’t sure where they were. It wasn’t one of his taverns, but the beer was good, so he guessed it didn’t matter. Tanismore was… somewhere in the background, singing some terrible song or other. Handy continued nursing his drink in one corner to separate himself from the majority of the tavern patrons. It seemed to do the job well enough that they had stopped worrying about him being present. He didn’t know how long he was there, but it sure as hell was dark outside.