It was the final night of deliberations, clarifying final points as the representatives and the princesses finished their meals. Also it was still humid because if you’ve been childish this long, might as well finish what you started right? It was all good otherwise, however, ponies and griffons had calmed down. No more shouting, no more snide remarks and backhanded compliments, no more of the fuckery of diplomatic, feather encrusted horse dung that had haunted the talks and made Handy’s life that much more unbearable. Goldtooth, the king of Firthingart? Yeah, he’s now rightfully earned his place pretty fucking high on Handy’s shitlist because of his interminable ramblings and constant complaints.