“Nothing,” Handy murmured as he sat on an upturned half of a barrel. He had a canteen of fresh water pressed against his veiled face to ease the pain of his black eye. Jacques was similarly scuffed up, but lacking a black eye himself, he was in considerably better shape. He sat sullenly at the other half of the barrel, flipping cards over and over again in some solo game with an annoyed expression on his face. Thorax cocked an eyebrow, looking between him and Handy. “Just a minor disagreement.”